


From Ashes

by AnnieVH



Category: Cinderella (2015), Cinderella (Fairy Tale), Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Anti Hook, F/M, Gen, Rumbelle - Freeform, anti milah
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-29 21:05:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3910645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieVH/pseuds/AnnieVH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cinderella AU. Rumpelstiltskin's life centers around pleasing his wife's every wish and taking care of his son. When Sir Maurice throws a ball to celebrate his daughter's birthday and all the Frontlands are invited, he thinks that maybe he'll catch a break for one night. But how can the village coward go to Lady Belle's ball?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note: I’m recycling two semi-original characters in this story, Aunt Fauna and Aunt Flora, Rumple’s adoptive spinsters. I usually restrict them to the Rumpel and the Spinsters verse.
> 
> Another note: Sir Maurice is the Duke of the Frontlands in this verse – the Frontlands being a duchy and Avonlea one of its towns. My lack of knowledge of royalty, nobility, titles and general ruling is evident in this story. Forgive me. Wikipedia only goes so far.

The morning started as it always did: with Milah shouting for him.

“Rumpelstiltskin! Rumpelstiltskin!”

He shook awake from his sleep and welcomed the pain on his back with a groan.

“Rumpelstiltskin, you are going to be late,” Milah said, already sitting at the empty table.

“Yes,” he said, sitting up on the floor and rubbing his eyes. “I’m sorry, my dear.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be sorry. Don’t be lazy.”

Laziness had nothing to do with it, though. Sunday was market day and, to finish the spinning in time, he had stayed up late the night before. If he had three hours of sleep, he’d be surprised. Not that there was ever much time for sleep anyway. Nor that whatever sleep he did get was any source of comfort, the hard floor gave him nothing but a sore back. At least he had the dying fire to keep him warm.

“Yes, of course,” he agreed, having learned long ago that agreeing with Milah was the easiest way to get her to stop complaining. He fumbled for his staff, only to find she had moved it out of his reach. Again.

“Well, then. Your son will be up at any moment, do you want him to find you there?”

_There_  was in front of the fireplace, wrapped on a thin blanked, looking bewildered as he struggled to come to grips with that distant idea, getting up. His body was too pained, too tired to comply. Instead, he raised his eyes and focused on her face. Her hair was already brushed and Milah looked beautiful in the pale morning light that came through the window, her arms and legs gracefully crossed as she sat on the chair and looked down at him.

No.

Looked down on him.

“No,” Rumple mumbled from the floor. “No, I wouldn’t want that.”

He reached for the stool by the spinning wheel and forced himself up.

Baelfire came out of his bedroom the moment he managed to stand on both legs.

“Hey, son,” he said, trying to smile. “Morning. Did you sleep well?”

Bae stopped at the door and frowned at him. Then, he looked at his mother, who gave him a large smile that cast away any shade from her face.

“Good morning, love. How did you sleep?”

His son’s eyes found him again. “Are you alright, Papa?”

“Yes, son, I’m fine. I just can’t find my staff.”

“If you paid attention to where you left things,” Milah preached from her chair, without moving one inch, “you wouldn’t lose them in the first place.”

Rumpelstiltskin knew where he had left the staff the night before. He had laid it down by his side. If it was not anywhere near him, it was because somebody had moved it.

Out loud, he said, “Yes, I know, dear.”

No reason to start the day with a fight, especially not in front of the boy.

“Here you go, Papa,” Bae said, finding the staff by the door and bringing it to him.

His father thanked him with a face full of relief and gave him a kiss on the forehead. He couldn’t bare going through the whole day without his staff – he had tried it in the past and it wasn’t an experience he wanted to repeat.

“Rumpelstiltskin,” Milah called again. His own name on her lips had the power to make him tremble. “Bae hasn’t had his breakfast yet, and it’s getting late.”

“Yes, my dear,” he nodded, moving back into the kitchen to get the plates and the bread.

Baelfire tried to follow him, but Milah pulled him to the table. “Bae, don’t get in your father’s way. Come sit and let him do his job.”

“But mom, he’s-” Bae tried.

Rumple stopped him himself. “It’s alright, Bae. I’ve got this.”

Unconvinced, Baelfire took his usual place at the table and waited, his eyes constantly going back to the fireplace.

Rumple set the table as usual, Milah’s eyes watching his every move, ready to criticize him if he dropped anything or served them too slowly. Not that there was much more to serve than some stale bread and goat milk, which didn’t mean the task was any easier. Nothing was easy while dragging a bad leg.

He was ready to sit down by his son’s side when he realized Baelfire still had his eyes far away.

“What is it, son?” he asked. “Is something bothering you?”

Much to his shock, he asked, “Papa, did you sleep on the floor?”

Rumpelstiltskin felt the color drained from his face. Milah’s cold eyes turned to the fireplace. A dirty blanket was still crumpled on the floor.

Rumpelstiltskin acted so fast to collect it he knew his ankle would be bothering him for days after so much exercise, but he couldn’t care less. All he cared about now was keeping it out of Baelfire’s sight. Usually, everything was ready long before Baelfire was up. The dishes were on the table, the blanket was folded, the bed was made. No evidence that Milah didn’t allow him into her bed, and hadn’t done so in years.

Rumple mumbled, “It’s nothing. It was drying.” As he put the blanket away.

Milah continued to watch him with cold eyes, ready to chastise him on the first opportunity she got for that mistake.

“But Papa,” Baelfire insisted, “your face.”

Rumple frowned. What could possibly be on his face that gave him away?

He limped to the mirror and observed his own face in layers. First, there was exhaustion around his eyes. Then, there was the web of wrinkles growing deeper with each year. But, on top of everything else, there was a thick layer of ash.

“You look filthy,” Milah stated from the table, leaving no doubt she disapproved of it.

Rumpelstiltskin dug the heels of his hands on his cheeks and rubbed vigorously, only to find out his hands were covered in ash as well and whatever effort he made to get himself cleaned up was pointless. He only managed to spread the dirt more.

He wasn’t a proud man, but standing in front of the mirror, helplessly trying to get himself cleaned as his child and wife watched, filled him with shame.

“Stop it, Rumple,” Milah said with a furious sigh. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“Yes, yes,” he nodded. “We’re in a hurry.”

“Indeed,” she said, as he started to make his way back to the table. “You better run outside and wash yourself. You clearly cannot join us at the table like this.”

He stopped and stared at her. “But, my dear,” he argued, though his voice was quiet, “if I go to the creek, how will I have time-”

“You better do it quickly then.”

Bae straightened his back. “But mom, Papa needs to eat.”

“It is a bad example to eat dirty, Baelfire,” she said, unmoved. “We are peasants. We are not pigs.”

Bae tried, “But I-”

And Rumple silenced him with a quiet, “It’s alright, son.” As he always did.

He walked outside and around the house as fast as he could. There was a small creek just behind the sheep pen. If he was fast enough, he’d make it back inside in time to clear the table, do the dishes, get his basket ready, and then eat something, if Milah left him a bit of bread. She hardly ever did, but if he was fast enough maybe he wouldn’t starve.

Rumpelstiltskin practically threw himself before the creek and brought wet hands to his eyes first, hoping the cold would stop the tears from stinging his eyes. He shouldn’t cry. Everybody had bad days, and those were the days when you had to be brave. He had to go back inside and get ready, there was a long walk to the market and he wouldn’t make it in time if he wasted precious minutes with pointless weeping.

He cleaned himself and, for Baelfire’s benefit, practiced a smile on his way back to the house. It wasn’t easy, but he managed. He had long experience with faking a smile to appease his son’s worries.

Before opening the door, he allowed himself to think of the fire, the ashes, the stale bread, the look of pure contempt on Milah’s face. Not for the first time, he wondered how did his life come to this.

*

A long time ago, Rumpelstiltskin promised Milah the life of a Queen. Maybe he should’ve known better, but he thought the life of a Queen was the least he’d be able to provide for his new bride. All he had to do was prove to the world that he was worthy, and he was doing that, one step at a time, every day.

It hadn’t been easy to overcome his father’s reputation. Regardless of not having seen him in decades, people still tended to think of him as the Son of the Coward. Some merchants still refused to trade with him, and some taverns still claimed Rumpelstiltskin owed them for drinks Malcolm had refused to pay for twenty years before. But for the most part, he had become the Spinners’ Child, which had issues on its own, but was a step up the social ladder.

The Spinners, two spinsters called Fauna and Flora, sometimes rubbed people the wrong way with their unapologetic way of life. Both had refused marriage proposals all their lives and retired to a cottage together, sharing everything in life. When they decided to take in a child, eyebrows were raised. When they started teaching the boy how to use a spinning wheel and how to sew, people became very vocal about it.

“What kind of life will this boy have with a woman’s profession?”

“Why don’t you sell him to apprentice with a tailor?”

“No woman wants to marry a man with a spinning wheel!”

But Fauna and Flora would hear none of it. They believed in their child and insisted there was nothing to be embarrassed about. Rumpelstiltskin was truly gifted both with a spinning wheel and a needle. Some day, he’d spin for Kings and Queens.

Rumpelstiltskin himself couldn’t care less he had a woman’s job. For the first time in his life, he found that he had a talent and dared to dream this would someday grant him, and the Spinners he now called his Aunts, a better life.

“That is how it goes, my dear,” Aunt Fauna would often say.

“It is hard work and perseverance,” Aunt Flora soon followed.

“You should always keep your head high,” Aunt Fauna continued. “Be brave.”

“And be kind,” Aunt Flora added. “Even when the world is less than kind to you. That is how you’ll make it.”

“That is how you’ll find happiness,” Aunt Fauna concluded. She liked to have the final word.

He still believed in all of that, perhaps even more fiercely as the years went by and he noticed the village’s contempt for him die away as he proved himself to be a reliable worker and a good man.

When Milah came into his life, the only hope Rumpelstiltskin had given up on was to find a wife. As it turned out, gossip was right, women did not have use for men with spinning wheels. He was already into his thirties and his Aunts had managed to scare away any and every available woman in the village by insistently inviting them over for tea. Rumple was mortified in those occasions, when he walked into the cottage only to find an unknown young lady growing uncomfortable as the she realized she was only there to see if she was a good match for the Spinner’s Child – the Coward’s Son. With a spinning wheel.

Milah was considered too old for marriage herself, having gone through that age with no proposals from honest men. Her mother, just like Malcolm, had a reputation of her own to taint her daughter’s past, and she had no father to give her hand away, nor a dowry to secure her future.

Her expectations were low, but she walked through life with her chin held high. She had done nothing to be ashamed of and she had her chastity as proof of that. If men only wanted her to warm their beds, she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of settling for anything other than a husband she loved and respected, and Rumpelstiltskin was easy to love and respect. He never told her ‘no’, never said anything crude to her ear, and treated her like most men only treated royalty, even though she was only a server in a dirty pub, with a tainted lineage. He also didn’t demand her to his bed before the wedding vows were exchanged – and even after, waited for her to crawl into his side of the bed ask to be touched.

Milah was kind to him. She never questioned his decisions, nor mocked his skill in spinning and sewing, nor doubted that he’d be able to give them a better life. When he promised to give her the life of a Queen, she believed him wholeheartedly.

Which made the heartbreak that followed even worse when the Son of the Coward became a coward himself.

A  _lame_  coward at that.

Milah’s love didn’t just die fast – it turned into contempt.

The man who had promised her the moon and stars became the village coward, destroying any chance of happiness she had striven so hard to achieve. On top of it, they now had a child, a little boy she named Baelfire and loved too much to leave behind, even if that also meant leaving the man who had broken her heart.

It would have been better to be a widow, and since she wasn’t, she made sure to let her husband know she and Bae would be better off if he had died in battle. The widow of a fallen soldier was respected by the rest of the village, friends greeted her with solemn eyes. The wife of the coward was kicked out of places and reminded on a daily basis she was married to the scourge of the earth.

Rumpelstiltskin accepted his new place in society with resignation.

“We can get through this,” he told Milah once her anger subsided from screaming to a resolute silence. “We’re still together. We have Baelfire. We’ll both be brave. For the boy.”

“You can’t be  _brave_ ,” she answered, disdainful. “You don’t know how.”

Her words stung, but he swallowed a sob and insisted, “You’ll see, love. Things will get better.”

But they didn’t.

His crime was not forgotten, and it surely was not forgiven.

He was not allowed into the market anymore, so he limped to a different town every Sunday, hoping his reputation wouldn’t follow, but it usually did. Aunt Fauna and Aunt Flora started helping out more, sometimes bringing food or, if Rumple was too desperate to refuse it, money. Milah went back to serving at the pub, knowing the few coins he’d make every week wouldn’t be enough to support themselves.

Rumple had no idea when serving at the pub became spending hours at the pub, entertaining sailors with gambling and drinking ale; he only knew that he started dragging her home drunk once a week, sometimes more. Her plans to make money turned into wasting the little they already had.

“It isn’t good for the boy to see you like this,” he said once, when Bae turned four.

“It isn’t good for the boy to be the son of a coward,” Milah retorted, ending the discussion.

One morning, she refused to get out of bed, claiming her head hurt too much because of the rum she’d drank the night before. He offered to make her a tea, but she didn’t budge, her cold eyes refusing to even look at him.

Rumpelstiltskin set the table for breakfast and changed Baelfire himself. Only when the goat had been milked and the bread cut into slices did Milah get up from bed and took her place at the table.

After that day, he noticed most of the domestic work was also falling on his shoulders. It wasn’t that he had never done that before, he was used to sharing the house chores. It was just that now he was doing  _everything_.

At first, he tried to approach the subject, carefully.

“My dear, if you could just…”

Milah raised challenging eyebrows and asked, “What?”

“Help me.”

“Help you?” she repeated, looking around. “Such as keeping the house clean when you are away?”

“I didn’t mean-”

“Or watching over your son because his father has to travel to another village to sell wool?”

“No, I-”

“Because no one will trade with the village’s coward,” she concluded, savoring those last two words.

Always those two words. It was enough to win any argument.

He was the village coward now. And she was lashed to him. She had committed no crimes, but she was paying for one all the same.

No wonder she hated him.

Eventually, Rumpelstiltskin learned not to question the new household order and did his chores along with the spinning. This way, Milah never complained and he could pretend her silence was actually happiness. And she did keep the house clean when he was away.

At first.

In a few months, however, she’d spend her days at the pub, or taking Baelfire to the lake by herself, leaving him alone in the house to do all the work.

Bae didn’t notice. Milah was smart enough to quickly grab a broom just to pretend she was putting it away as soon as Bae walked into the room. And Rumple would rather lose hours of sleep than to let his boy grow up in a filthy home.

One night, Milah was fast asleep when he finished preparing his basket for the market. But she had sprawled herself as much as she could on their already tiny bed and sharing it with her was just not an option, unless he was willing to wake her up, which he wasn’t. She was particularly unpleasant on the few occasions he had gone as far as to shake her away, and he’d rather settle for sleeping at the edge of the bed.

But there was no edge of the bed tonight.

He settled for the taking a blanket and retiring to the front of the fireplace, where the dying ambers could keep him warm.

The morning after, as he washed ashes from his hands and face, Milah commented, “It is a good sleeping arrangement.”

“I’m sorry?” he asked, turning his neck and hearing it crack. He was sore all over.

“I appreciate that you allowed me to have the bed,” she explained.

Rumple stared at her, not knowing what to say. To know that she didn’t want him in her bed anymore was hard to hear, second only to the knowledge that he’d have to spend every night from there on out on the cold floor.

“Baelfire shouldn’t know,” Milah continued, as if he had agreed with every word she said. “You better clear everything before he wakes up.”

To his surprise, Rumple caught himself answering, “Yes, my dear.”

He didn’t want to pick up a fight. He just wanted to go through his days knowing that his wife didn’t hate him  _all that much_. And that his son was happy.

“You know, Rumple,” Aunt Fauna had told him, when he first came back from battle with a broken ankle and a stain on his reputation, “it is not cowardice to put others above us.”

“Doing that means you are brave,” Aunt Flora soon followed. “And that is what you are.”

“You are brave,” Aunt Fauna continued.

“And you are kind,” Aunt Flora concluded.

Rumpelstiltskin sighed. Most men would have run away, found another place to start over, probably leaving behind his spiteful wife and child. Not him. He’d work hard and they’d get through this. They’d find happiness again, someday.

With that thought to rock him to sweet dreams, he took his place on the floor every night.


	2. Chapter 2

 

“Oh, look at that!” Regina exclaimed, in a voice that was not _happy_ , but that Belle had learned to associate with “Regina being as happy as she could be”. “Lord Keith has also accepted our invitation. Isn’t that wonderful, Sir Maurice?”

Belle raised her eyes from her breakfast plate to look at her father, who seemed as content as Regina.

“That is wonderful,” he agreed. “Isn’t it, Belle?”

Belle mumbled a neutral response and continued to poke the strawberries on her plate, without ever eating them.

“Lord Keith is a wonderful choice for you, Belle,” Regina said. “He’s a decorated soldier and is a personal friend of King John.” To her father, she said, “I introduced King John to his second wife.”

“Oh!” Sir Maurice said, looking very impressed. “Isn’t that nice, Belle?”

Again, Belle offered an uncompromising sound as a reply.

“Don’t mumble, dear,” Regina said, giving the hand that was closest to her a little pinch. Belle startled and looked at her angrily. “It is not ladylike.”

“Who else accepted the invitation?” Maurice asked, eying the large pile of letters Regina had brought in with her.

“Let me see.” Regina had gone over the pile three times already and had memorized the name of every young man on it. But she let out a dramatic little, “Oh!” as she picked another letter. “Prince James _himself_.”

“ _No_!”

“ _Yes_!” Regina turned to Belle, who showed no reaction to the name whatsoever. “You do remember Prince James, don’t you, Belle darling?”

Belle stared at Regina until she rolled her eyes. “Son of King George, desperately in need of a wife. He is a good bet. Honestly, I wish you’d show some enthusiasm. The very least you must know is his lineage and the name of his kingdom. Will we have to study all of this again before the ball?”

“I’m not going to the ball,” Belle stated.

For a moment, conversation continued as it always did, with Regina celebrating her own success and her father looking pleased. As soon as they made sense of her words, however, they both turned to look at her.

“What did you say?” Regina demanded, leaving the “And you better not say that again, you brat!” implied.

Belle made sure to look into her eyes when she repeated, very slowly, “I am... _not..._ going... to the ball.”

“What are you talking about?” Maurice said, looking on the verge of panic. “ _Of course_ you are going to the ball! It is _your_ ball! It is a ball to celebrate your birthday!”

“No,” Belle argued. “It _was_ a ball to celebrate my birthday, now it’s a ball to find me a new suitor, which is something you promised you wouldn’t do!”

Regina groaned to herself. She gave Maurice a skewed look, “I told you this would come back to bite you.”

“You promised, Papa! You promised!” Belle insisted. “You promised I’d be free to choose the man I married when Gaston passed away!”

“But my darling, of course you can choose the man you will marry,” Maurice said.

“Yes,” Regina agreed, showing Belle the many letters she had been reading out loud. “As long as it’s from this very wide range of pre-selected suitors.”

Belle gave Maurice those helpless eyes that always melted her father’s soul. “Papa,” she pleaded.

“My dear, we only want what is best for you,” Maurice said. “You’re at the age to be married-”

“ _Way_ past the age to marry,” Regina corrected. “You’re twenty eight!”

“You need a husband,” Maurice continued. “I will not live forever and I want to make sure there will be someone here to look after you.”

“I think I’m more than capable to look after myself,” Belle retorted, making Regina laugh joylessly.

“Look after yourself?” she repeated. “With your nose always in a book?”

“You _also_ need a husband,” Maurice went on, ignoring the interruptions, “because the land has to be managed, and decisions have to be made-”

“Such as keeping our boarders safe?” Belle asked. “And making sure our people have enough to eat? And maintaining good relationships with other kingdoms?”

“Precisely,” Maurice agreed, with a little spark of excitement when he dared to think his daughter was finally seeing things his way.

“And why can’t I do these things myself?” Belle argued, making both her father and Regina groan in frustration. “Papa, I could easily run the land by myself! I have accompanied you to many meetings, and you’ve taken my advice on so many accounts. You know that I am capable of doing it.”

“You see?” Regina said. “This is what happens when you give your child too much freedom! What was your daughter doing before I got here?”

“Being much, much happier!” Belle snapped.

Regina glared at her as if she was ready to spit fire. At first, that look would make Belle lower her eyes and excuse herself. Regina could be quite intimidating when she wanted to be. But that had been over a year ago, when she was stricken by grief and guilt over Gaston’s sudden death and didn’t want to have to deal with Regina Mills, her new Tutor. She’d gladly walk from one side of the room to another with a book on her head for two hours, if it only meant she could retire to her chambers later and actually _read it_ once they were done.

It was only when Regina started getting more nosy about her life that Belle noticed something was wrong. Regina was telling her what to dress, what to talk about at dinner, _who_ to talk to at dinner parties. She even went as far as to replace the books on her shelf to what she called “more suitable books for your age”. Mostly tame romances, books on royalty, and manuals on ladylike etiquette.

The day Regina announced she’d send out invitations for her birthday ball to every respectable young man she knew was when Belle realized her Tutor was actually making the works of a Matchmaker, while grooming her to become the perfect bride.

That was also the day life got really challenging for Regina Mills. It wasn’t that she ever cared for the spoiled brat who read too much, dreamed too much, and cared too little about her own future. But it was much easier to deal with her when she didn’t answer Regina’s questions with twenty questions of her own, always in that challenging tone that had no place in a young lady’s mouth.

Belle eventually learned that sustaining her look without blinking until Regina gave up and turned back to complain at her father was the best way of dealing with her anger. It usually made her even more furious and it was quite amusing to watch.

Sir Maurice, who had seen enough conflict when he was fighting the Ogre Wars, decided to come between them by saying, “Dear Belle, listen to me,” as softly as he could.

Reluctantly, Belle looked away from Regina and into her father’s eyes.

“I understand that Gaston’s death was a shock to you,” he said. “It was a shock to all of us. But he died making sure the Ogres were gone, so that all of us could move on with our lives. And that includes you.”

Regina watched Belle lower her eyes to her uneaten strawberries, savoring the little hint of guilt that flashed inside her eyes. The brat had never cared for Gaston, Regina noticed that within two weeks of living with her.

“I do not expect you to be over your fiance already, it’s not even been two years. But I think it’s time to get your nose out of your books and start socializing again. With people your own age.”

Regina added, “Preferably men.”

“Yes, and we do not expect you to choose any of them,” Maurice said.

Regina added, “Not right _now_ , anyway.”

“But you would put your old man’s heart at ease if you agreed to come to the ball and have fun.”

Regina tried to add, “And talk to people-”

But Belle cut in fiercely, “Talk to the men Regina has chosen for me.”

“I completely trust your judgment,” Maurice said, his voice so calm that Belle could almost believe him. “There is no hurry Belle, and if you tell me none of the young men you met are good enough for you, I’ll believe you.”

Belle looked into her father’s eyes. He was being honest. But when she looked into Regina’s she could see the other woman was eager to marry her off. Belle was a rebel one and Regina had a reputation to maintain, the sooner she got rid of her, the better. Regina would probably spend the whole night pushing her from the arms of a Prince to the arms of a Grand Duke, giving the men false hope and allowing them to harass her with letters for months to come.

“Do you really trust my decision, Papa?” Belle asked.

Maurice smiled, “Absolutely, my precious. I know you will choose the right man for you.”

“Very well,” Belle finally said with a curt nod of her head. “I agree. I will come to the ball and meet my suitors.”

Maurice breathed out, relaxing in his chair. “Thank you, my dear.”

“As long as we invite the commoners as well.”

Belle heard the room be taken over by a resounding silence. The looks of shock on her father and Regina’s faces were delightful to watch.

Regina was the first to recover and say, “You are _joking_.” Not a question, but a statement.

“You say you trust my judgment, Papa,” Belle said, trying to sound reasonable. “Well then, I don’t see how it’s fit that I only meet the young men that have been previously selected by you. I say I should have the chance to interact with whomever-”

“She’s testing you,” Regina interrupted, as Maurice’s face started turning red. “She wants you to call off the ball.”

“I am tempted to do so,” Maurice replied between gritted teeth.

“You said it is my right to choose,” Belle said with such simplicity her father’s face turned red.

“From suitable young men,” Maurice said, raising from his chair and looking ready to explode. “I will not have my only daughter marry a commoner.”

“Ah!” Belle said, raising a finger. “But you also said there is no pressure for me to marry and that this ball is only for me to start socializing again.”

Maurice grimaced at having his own words being thrown back at him.

“Then I don’t see what is the harm in having everyone present.”

“Young lady!” Maurice said, finally snapping and slamming his hands on the table. “You will do as I-”

“ _Actually_!”

Maurice stopped talking and Belle turned her eyes to Regina. Even though her voice was calm to contrast with Maurice’s screaming, the Duke closed his mouth immediately and paid attention to her.

“I think Lady Belle’s idea is quite charming, come to think of it.”

Maurice frowned, “You do?”

Belle examined Regina’s face. She seemed... content. That almost never happened, and she wasn’t sure it was a good sign.

“Lets invite the commoners,” Regina said, making it sound like a final decision. “It is, after all, Belle’s ball and she should give her opinion as well, isn’t that right?”

Regina hadn’t asked her about the decorations, the music, the guests, nor what she would be wearing. But suddenly she was worried about her input?

Definitely _not_ a good sign.

“I will have someone go to the market in Avonlea and announce it right away.”

“You will?” Maurice repeated, still in shock.

“Of course. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

Belle stared at her. When Regina’s queasy smile didn’t change, she decided a simple, “Thank you, Lady Regina,” was in order.

Regina’s smile only grew in size and teeth at that, and even though breakfast continued in a very uneventful manner, Belle couldn’t shake the feeling that she was now in trouble.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumple has a surprise at the market.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MaddieBonanaFana did the hard work of correcting my mistakes.

“How nice of you to join me!” Aunt Fauna greeted as she saw Rumpelstiltskin and Baelfire approaching the stall she had set up by herself.

“I’m sorry, Aunt Fauna,” Rumpelstiltskin said. “I overslept.”

“Papa didn’t have breakfast,” Bae told her.

His father sighed. “Snitch.”

Bae simply shrugged. If it was up to his father, he’d start working right away and not have a bite of anything before lunch.

Aunt Fauna shook her head. “Figures. Here.” She handed him a coin. “Go buy yourself some bread.” Rumple tried to argue, but before he had Aunt Fauna’s name fully out of his mouth, she cut in saying, “Not a word about it. You go eat something and Bae will help me with the yarn. Go.”

There was no arguing with Aunt Fauna, Rumpelstiltskin had learned that from a very early age. She was a kind woman, but was also a very stubborn one, and age hadn’t softened that trait one bit. Rumpelstiltskin was nearing his fifties, but Aunt Fauna had the power to make him feel like a child again. He had no idea what he’d do when the time came for Fauna to retire, because she’d fight him to exhaustion, claiming she was still in the prime of her life, even though there was a hump on her back and her eyes were starting to fail her. She tried to hide the arthritis, but he could see the split second winces when she got up. At the age of seventy two, she’s was pushing her luck coming to Avonlea every week.

Rumpelstiltskin came back to the stall planning on saying just that. He and Bae could easily take over the business, and that included their spinning jobs as well. There was no need for either Fauna or Flora to be inconvenienced at this stage of their lives. They should lie down and let their son take care of them.

“Eat first,” Fauna said, when she saw him open his mouth to speak. “I taught you better than to talk with your mouth full.”

Rumpelstiltskin sighed and tried to eat his stale bread as fast as he could.

“So, your son told me a very interesting story.”

There it was.

He swallowed and asked, “Where is Bae?”

“I let him go to the fountain with some other boys.”

Rumpelstiltskin nodded and chewed his bread.

“He wanted to stay,” Aunt Fauna continued. “Said he shouldn’t leave a Lady to work by herself and that I might need his help. Such a sweet boy he is. But I could see he was  _dying_  to go with the other boys. So I told him everything was alright and that I’m a very strong old hag.”

“That you are,” he said. “Strong, I mean. But one of these days, he’ll have to stay with us. He has to learn how the market works.”

“What? Because it’s so hard?” she laughed. “Besides, you don’t really think he’ll grow up to be a spinner, do you?”

No, he didn’t. Baelfire wasn’t cut out for the spinning wheel. In fact, he wasn’t cut out for a lot of things that Rumpelstiltskin tried to teach him. His son was very boyish, and so unlike himself. Rumple had learned to spin, sew, knit, and all other manual labors Aunt Fauna and Aunt Flora could teach him. Some people had frowned on that, claiming those were not suitable activities for a young man to learn. Aunt Fauna unceremoniously told those people to shove their opinions where they couldn’t be heard. Rumpelstiltskin was undeniably good at it, and it was nothing to be ashamed of – or so his Aunties told him repeatedly.

When it was Bae’s turn to learn, he wasn’t so successful. Rumpelstiltskin didn’t know if he should be worried that he had nothing of value to teach his son as a means of work, or relieved that Bae would likely move on to learn something that would give him a better chance in life.

Milah had been talking about finding him an apprenticeship in town. Not to Rumple – as far as she was concerned, he had no business offering opinions on Baelfire’s future – but to Bae himself.

“I can see you becoming a Squire,” she had told him more than once. “Wouldn’t you like that, love? Squire to a brave knight. You’ll see the world and have adventures.”

Bae had listened to her fascinated. Milah probably knew knights from the pubs, it wouldn’t be hard to find someone to take his son away. And Bae was almost the right age.

“He told me he thinks you sleep on the floor.”

Rumpelstiltskin blinked and looked at her.

“Pardon?”

“Your son told me you sleep on the floor.”

Aunt Fauna had never been one for subtlety.

Rumple dusted the breadcrumbs to the ground and didn’t look her in the eye.

“You have to stop using your grandson to spy on me,” he said.

“I wouldn’t have to if you started telling me what’s going on with you and Milah.”

“How is Aunt Flora?”

Fauna narrowed her eyes, annoyed at the change of topic, but answered, “Complaining that I won’t let her out of bed.”

“Why does she even want to be out of bed? We can handle this. In fact, I could easily handle this by myself, there is no need for you to walk to Avonlea every Sunday.”

Moving to Avonlea had been a smart decision on their part. It was too big a town to care for the village coward, but even there he could feel the change in other people’s demeanor when they knew who he was. They’d still buy, but they’d stare him down until Rumpelstiltskin had lowered his head and shriveled back to his little stool, showing that he knew his proper place. But even in large markets they could notice a very clear increase in their sales whenever Fauna talked to the clients. When Rumpelstiltskin came to the market by himself, it wasn’t unusual for people to pass by his stall and pretend not to notice him.

“Walking is good for my hip,” Aunt Fauna said.

“It was the walking that ruined Flora’s hip in the first place. Lord knows we cannot afford more people getting sick in this family.”

“Flora would appreciate the help around the house. Why don’t you move back home?”

“Not this again,” he said, rubbing his eyes.

“You’re not happy,” Fauna argued. “And as far as I can tell, neither is Milah.”

“She’s still Bae’s mother. Do you really want me to take him away from her?”

“You more than anybody knows that some parents can be more of a burden than a blessing.”

“Not Milah. She may not always be good to me, but she is never unkind to Bae. She’s a good mother. And regardless of the way she treats me, she’s still my wife. It’s my duty as a faithful husband to stand by her side, or is it not?”

She sighed in that way that indicated she was holding her tongue.

“Besides, she could have left me at any moment these past fourteen years and she didn’t.”

“I know that,” she acknowledged, reluctantly. “But I don’t like how unhappy you are.”

“I’m not unhappy,” he insisted, as if the idea was a ridiculous one. “I have Bae. I have you both. And I’m sure that any problems I might have with Milah will sort themselves out. You’ll see.”

Fauna didn’t say anything. It had been almost fourteen years since her son’s marriage started going downhill and, even though she tried, she couldn’t see a happy ending there anymore. She’d gladly welcome Rumple back home with Bae and leave Milah to fend for herself – and she had a hunch Milah wouldn’t mind that either. She had always dreamed big, it was one of the things Aunt Fauna used to like about her. She probably fantasized about a world of adventures, wealth, and better looking men to warm her bed.

If only she didn’t have Bae to latch her to the village coward.

Sometimes, Fauna wondered to what extend her daughter-in-law might go to get rid of this dull life she was chained to.

“We need a break,” Rumpelstiltskin said, as if drawing a conclusion after many hours of thought.

Fauna asked, “Pardon?”

“We need a break. We need to talk the way we used to before…” he looked at his bad leg, swollen from the walk. “Before I ruined everything.”

“You didn’t-”

“Maybe then she’d remember why she loved me in the first place,” he concluded, paying her no attention.

Rumpelstiltskin raised his eyes to the busy market, its patrons passing by their stall without a second glance. The only person who seemed interested in them was Baelfire, who was running towards them with a big smile. Undoubtedly, his basket would still be full when he returned home at the end of the day. Which meant he’d have no money. Which would probably lead to disappointing his wife again. She’d be very vocal about it, for sure.

A break.

Wouldn’t that be nice.

“Papa! Papa!” Bae shouted, running to him and almost knocking the stall over in the process.

Rumpelstiltskin jumped off his stool to steady it before it collapsed.

Aunt Fauna snapped, “Careful, boy!”

“Sorry, Aunt Fauna,” Bae said, trying to drop the excitement in his voice so he would appear sheepish, but unable to. He turned back to his father. “Papa, you have to come! They’re making a big announcement!”

Aunt Fauna groaned loudly as she saw the market patrons gathering around the fountain. In her opinion, news had surpassed their usefulness the moment the Ogres were defeated. Yet, they continued to hold these theatrical proclamations every other week for whatever reason they could find, from stating the appropriate length of a woman’s skirt within Avonlean boarders, to the banning of strawberries due to its believed aphrodisiac nature.

“Not this again!” she said. “How are we supposed to earn an honest living if they keep calling the clients away for this nonsense?”

“It’s not nonsense, Auntie! It’s important!” Bae insisted, taking his father’s hand and pulling it. “C'mon, Papa!”

“Baelfire, I need to work,” he said, eying Fauna, hoping she’d give Bae one of her most incisive looks. That was always enough to keep him quiet.

She said, “Just go and see what is it this time. Maybe it’s good for a laugh. Besides, if Arendelle is invading, we might close early.”

Rumpelstiltskin gave in and allowed Bae to pull him towards the crowded square. It was hard to see anything from the back, but he was used to it by now. The village coward never got the best seat anywhere, he should just be grateful to be allowed in.

A man dressed in velvet and looking increasingly discomforted to be surrounded by so many peasants, unrolled a long parchment and held it in front of his face. Rumpelstiltskin awaited the pending bad news, or, hopefully, something silly that he could tell Aunt Flora when he stopped by to visit later on. The herbs for the pain were not always effective and she could use a laugh.

Over the murmuring of the crowd, came the herald’s booming voice and, within five seconds, the square went silent as every single jaw fell to the floor. This couldn’t be right. It had to be a joke of some sort. And yet, there he was, an official messenger from the Duke, delivering the most exciting news Avonlea had heard in nearly a decade.

When the man was done talking, the townsfolk exploded in a million questions and cheers. Bae started a long rant that would last for the next few weeks. But Rumpelstiltskin went absolutely quiet, his heart lighter than it had been in years. This was what he was waiting for. This was the opportunity he needed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumple and Bae give Milah the good news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: MaddieBonanaFana

By the time Rumpelstiltskin arrived home, Milah had already started her nightly routine and was sitting in front of her mirror, tying her hair up. Usually, that was enough to sadden his heart. She was making herself beautiful, and it was not for his eyes. But tonight, he felt optimistic. Surely she wouldn’t leave after hearing the good news.

“How was the market?” she asked, absentmindedly.

From a distance, he appreciated the sharp angles of her face.

“You look beautiful,” he said.

She huffed at his comment. “My hair refuses to stay up.”

Rumpelstiltskin placed his basket on the floor and limped to the mirror. Without a word, he brushed her hair carefully and twisted it into a bun with skillful hands. When he was done, he asked, “Do you like it?”

Milah examined it carefully, looking for a reason to criticize. When she found none, she settled for, “It will have to do.”

On her lips, it was as good as flattery.

“Where are you going tonight?”

“How much did you get for the yarn?”

He reached inside his pocket, pulled out two copper coins and placed them on the dresser.

Milah frowned and turned to look him in the eye, demanding, “Where’s the rest?”

“There’s no rest, Milah,” he said, sounding like he was confessing to a crime. “I had to buy bread-”

She turned again and regarded the coins as if they were made of wood. “This won’t even buy me a pint.”

“These are difficult times.”

“You’ll have to move again,” she said, glaring at him in the mirror.

“There’s no need. Avonlea’s been very profitable-”

“This isn’t  _profitable_ ,” she cut in. “This is  _laughable_.”

“Maybe,” he tried, very carefully, “you could stay in tonight. We all have to make sacrifices.”

“Says the man who refuses to leave this blasted village.”

“Milah-”

“The very least you should do is move on to another market and try to provide for your family.”

“Lets not fight,” he pleaded. “Not tonight. We have great news.”

“What would that be?” she asked, not paying attention to him anymore and reexamining her hair in the mirror. Maybe if she looked hard enough, she might find something to criticize after all.

“Bae wants to tell you. He made me swear I’d keep my mouth shut.”

She laughed. “Lord knows you should do it more often. Where is he?”

“I asked him to tend the sheep before coming in.”

Milah shook her head. “If it was up to you, my son would be nothing but a shepherd. You’re lucky _I_  think about his future.  _I’m_  going to give him his best chance.”

There was a hint of secrecy in those words that made Rumpelstiltskin’s blood run cold. For a moment, he feared she’d announce that she had found Bae a knight in need of a Squire and, tomorrow, he’d be leaving to go  _somewhere_  to never return. After all, whatever Milah thought to be his best chance, it sure as hell didn’t involve Rumpelstiltskin.

He opened his mouth to ask what she meant by that, but Baelfire came rushing through the curtain that sufficed as theirfront door, shouting, “Mother!”

Milah’s disgust dissolved into kindness as she took Baelfire’s hands into hers and said, “There’s my precious boy! Did you enjoy the market?”

“Yes!” he all but shouted. “Did Papa tell you?”

“I was waiting for you,” Rumpelstiltskin said, trying to smile.

“My my, so many secrets,” she giggled. “What is it that you boys aren’t telling me?”

Bae took in some breath and announced, as booming as the herald in the square, “Mother, there’s going to be a ball!”

“Is that so, my love?” Milah asked, very sweet, but unimpressed.

“Yes! In celebration of Lady Belle’s birthday!”

“That sounds lovely, my dear.”

With that, she let go of his hands and pocketed the coins as she got up, ready to leave.

“No, wait,” Rumpelstiltskin said, almost begging. “You haven’t heard the best part yet.”

“Everyone is invited!” Bae shouted.

“Really?” Milah asked, still underreacting to the whole thing in her son’s opinion. “All the kings and queens? Maybe we’ll get to see them parade down the streets. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“No, Mother! Everyone! Everyone in the kingdom is invited! Even  _us_!”

Now she stopped, the sweet smile fading from her face as her son’s words started making sense. “What? That can’t be right.”

“It is,” Rumple said. “Every man and woman is invited to the ball. That’s what they said. There will be a feast and a dance.”

The look on Milah’s face was of complete astonishment, not that he could blame her. His own face must have looked the same when he first heard the news.

“But…” she said, struggling to find words. “How? When?”

“In three weeks,” Rumple answered. “At the Duke’s estate.”

“Can I go, Mother?” Bae pleaded, pulling her hand again. “Please?”

Rumple laughed. “I told you, son. It’s not a party for children.”

“But Papa! There will be knights and kings and princesses!”

Milah smiled affectionately and said, “No, love, your Papa is right.”

Rumple’s face went from happy to shocked in the blink of an eye. Milah not only said something nice about him, she also admitted that he was right. This Ball was already changing things for the better.

“But Mother,” Bae whined, “I’ll never get the chance to go to another ball!”

She held Bae’s face in her hands and said, very kindly, “When you are older, you’ll get to go to beautiful balls, I’m sure of it. I bet you’ll even dance with a Princess or two.”

“But Mother-”

“Baelfire,” his father said, “don’t argue with your mother. Now go wash yourself for dinner.”

Bae sulked and marched out of the house muttering complaints under his breath.

Milah turned to Rumple looking the happiest he had seen in her in over a decade.

“A Ball,” she simply stated, her voice giddy and breathless. “A Ball at the Duke’s estate.”

“Indeed.”

“I’ll need a new dress. And quickly. Soon the seamstress will be overflowing with work.”

Rumpelstiltskin frowned.

“No need for a seamstress, Milah. I can make you a dress.”

“Ha!” she scoffed. “Make me a dress. Like this?”

She held the skirt of what she was currently wearing with contempt. Usually, he brushedaside her bitterness and carried on the conversation, but that was particularly cruel of her to say and it _stung_. He had worked on that dress for many days and given it to her as a birthday present five years before. Until recently, she used to save it for special occasions.

“It’s your favorite dress,” he said, meekly. “You said so many times.”

“It’s a  _peasant_  dress. I cannot go the a noble ball dressed as a peasant.”

He shook his head. “Trust me, Milah. We’ll both be appropriately dressed.”

Milah stopped and stared at him, suddenly alarmed.

Rumpelstiltskin knew what that meant long before she spoke again. In some level, he was already expecting it. But it still shocked him when she said, “You are  _not_  going.”

“What are you talking about? They said every man and woman in the Frontlands.”

“They clearly didn’t mean  _you_.”

“And why not?” he said, though he knew the answer. He tried to delay it by insisting, “I am a hard working man and I live in this land, just as much as everyone else-”

“You’re the village coward!” she spat at him. “She is the daughter of the knight who came to this kingdom to fight the Ogres. Her fiance died putting an end to the war. Nobody wants the man who ran away to be there.”

“That was fourteen years ago.”

“It’s still fresh in my mind. As it is in everyone else’s. Besides, you cannot dance.”

“I can dance,” he said, very confident in that simple statement. “Remember? I asked you out for a dance. That’s how I fell in love with you. Wouldn’t it be fun to relive that? To dance all night, just as we used to.”

Milah tried to stare him down, but Rumpelstiltskin looked deep into her eyes, expecting to see the glimpse of a loving memory there. Milah loved to dance once, had told him repeatedly that he was the best dancer she had ever met.

“You’ll see,” he insisted. “We’ll have a night of fun, just the two of us. No child, no village, no worries. Just the way it used to be.”

“This discussion is pointless,” she finally said, looking away. “You have no clothes to wear and the little money we make can barely afford me a descent dress.”

“I’ll find a way.”

Milah burst into laughter. A cruel laughter. “You can’t find a way to feed us, but you’ll find descent clothes to wear? How? Magic?”

“I’m resourceful.”

She shook her head as she picked up her shawl to leave.

Rumpelstiltskin allowed himself to feel a little spark of hope. “If I can find something to wear, something decent, we can go together, yes?”

“Oh,  _d_ _arling_!” she spat the affectionate term at him, no trace of love there. “You find something to wear, you can have Lady Belle’s first dance, for all I care.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Regina schemes to get what she wants, and Rumple's Aunties come up with a solution to his problem.

Chapter 5

 

Regina was up to something, Belle was sure of it. She wasn't even being subtle about it, staring at her through narrow eyes, looking as if she was biding her time. Her voice had turned from carefully contemptuous to sugary sweet, and now every word she spoke seemed to be dripping in honey, even though she still smiled in a way that Belle could only define as manic.

Often, she would ask, “I imagine you still think it's a wonderful idea to invite the peasants to your birthday, yes?”

To which Belle would invariably answer, “Yes. I think it's a wonderful idea. Unless you'd like to cancel the party altogether?”

It was the sort of confrontational answer that would usually make Regina to throw a tantrum, take away her favorite books, maybe even lock her in her room like a bratty child, until she was ready to apologize – though she never did.

Instead, her tutor only offered her the grin of a wolf ready to devour a little girl and said, “As you wish, my dearest Belle. You know what is best for you.”

This was not only out of character, but _conscientiously_ out of character. A choice to make Belle descend into madness awaiting Regina's attack.

 _She truly is an Evil Witch_ , she thought one morning, hiding away in her library.

She had selected her favorite book in hopes it would take her mind away from Regina and the ball and the suitors and, most of all, Gaston, who was once again haunting her thoughts, probably because Regina was trying to find her a new betroth. Not that she was ever truly free of the memory of her fiance.

Gaston's arrogant smile, making it hard to appreciate his beautiful face.

Gaston's superficial conversation.

Gaston's last words to her (“I'll put an end to this war for us.”) before galloping to his death.

Gaston's dead body, what was left of it, being returned to her, no longer beautiful, no longer in one piece. His beautiful smile broken. His lips swollen and permanently shut. His arms-

Belle shuddered. They told her not to look, but she pushed through the long line of soldiers and opened the coffin without a second thought. She had to see him, it couldn't be true. But the mess of bruises and torn limbs upon which she laid her eyes was unquestionably him. Her betroth. The man who didn't know there was a fine line between bravery and stupidity.

Belle wept desperately over his remains, so much so that it startled Father and everyone else who had known of their engagement – Gaston's price for his loyalty and army. Lady Belle had used of any artifice she had to postpone the wedding as much as she could. But maybe there was genuine affection in her heart.

“I don't think she cried this much for her mother,” she overheard Father say as she sobbed.

It was easy to mistake guilt for heartbreak.

In days like these, the confinement that Regina kept her in was almost unbearable. There had been no room in this house that Belle hadn't told Gaston a lie. They had sat in that very couch when he confronted her more directly than ever before.

“You don't want to go through with this engagement.”

She told him the biggest lie of them all in that room.

“I do. I love you.”

“Then why won't you let me set a date?”

Belle blamed it on the war. She should have blamed it on grief for her mother. Then he wouldn't have set out to end the war. And the Ogres wouldn't have tore him apart, limb by limb.

The knock on the door barely gave her time to hide the book under the pillow and pick up the knitting. There was no time left to wipe the tears before Regina came into the room.

“Oh, darling Belle,” Regina sighed, a perfect imitation of sympathy. “Whatever is the matter?”

Belle put down her knitting – an ugly looking scarf she was planning on gifting to Regina as soon as it was finished – and said, “It is nothing,” as she dried her eyes. She could only hope Regina wouldn't bring up Gaston again. The woman seemed able to read her thoughts whenever they were of her betroth, and she knew how to talk about him in a way that only twisted Belle's heart into guilt.

_Don't say his name. If you say his name one more time, I will go mad._

Regina smiled, “That seems to be progressing well.”

Belle blinked, then eyed the scarf.

“Very well. I cannot put it down,” she answered, her tone somewhere between relief and cynicism. She was still unclear on the benefits of knitting.

Regina's smile didn't falter. “If you can manage for a little while, I thought that you and I could go for a little ride.”

Belle frowned, surprised. “No more knitting?”

“Who could knit when it's such a wonderful day outside?” Regina went to open a window. “A beautiful, sunny morning. It is perfect for a carriage ride. Maybe even a stroll in the woods.”

Something in Regina's voice made her want to say, “No, thank you,” and return to her book, safe from whatever it was that Regina was cooking up. But it had been months since the last time her tutor had allowed her out of the estate. According to her, prancing around was not suitable for young ladies in grief. Belle was lucky to be allowed into the garden, and even then she was not supposed to stray far from the house.

Besides, almost two years of dealing with the ghost of Gaston poisoning her thoughts and she had learned to recognize dark days like this. There were not enough books, or knitting for that matter, to take away the guilt.

Despite the alarms sounding in her head, she tried to smile. “I think I could use a break from all the work.”

“Wonderful!” Regina said, clapping her hands together. “You better change into something a little more simple, then.”

Belle raised her eyebrows. “Simple?” She didn't even know Regina was familiar with that word. She was a lady of taste, but it was invariably expensive and gaudy. Her Sunday morning attire currently consisted of a long red coat and leather pants, a hat was sure to make an appearance as soon as they left the house.

“Such as that lovely blue dress you're so fond of,” Regina suggested, still pretending Belle didn't look suspicious at all in front of her.

“You hate that blue dress,” Belle said. “You say it makes me look like a peasant girl.”

“A lady must learn to accessorize, Belle,” she said. “It is your lesson for the day. The simplest dress can be worthy of a Queen if you wear it properly. How about that beautiful green cape I gave you?”

This was wrong.

This was very wrong.

Too many smiles, too many compliments, too many decisions being left in her own hands.

But it was also a way out of the house, and that point, to get away from her own thoughts and guilt, Belle would do anything – even if it meant being at Regina's mercy.

 

*

 

Rumpelstiltskin was in a rather good mood, all things considered. Two weeks after the announcement in the market, Lady Belle's birthday ball had made quite a difference in his life. He had hoped for it, surely, but he didn't truly believe it would happen, especially not that quickly. Milah became nicer to him immediately – or rather, she spent so much time daydreaming about the ball and talking to Bae about how amazing it would be that she had no time left to criticize him. She even went back to working as a waitress so she could afford a better dress. Since she had stopped asking _him_ for money, he assumed business was going well.

That allowed Rumpelstiltskin to focus on his daily duties. And since Milah was not scrutinizing everything he did, the every day chores were done quickly, giving him time to spin and to figure out that difficult problem: what to wear to the ball? His wife was right, everything he owned were rags that would only embarrass them if he dared join her.

He thought that maybe other people in the village might be facing the same problem. Some might even come to the ball wearing the same clothes they wore every day. But soon he realized the issue was something else entirely, because, unlike everyone else, he didn't have to find something that would please Lady Belle and show her respect; he had to find something that would get Milah's approval, and that was the hardest challenge of all.

That Sunday morning, his mind was trying to focus on the work ahead, instead of daydreaming of waltzes and banquets and Milah smiling at him for the first time in years, as he waited for Aunt Fauna to open her door. When she did, she greeted him with by rolling her eyes. “I told you, I don't need help.”

“I know you don't,” he agreed, already coming inside and looking for her basket. “Is this all you're taking to the market?”

“I've carried my things to the market for sixty years. The hell I'm going to rely on someone else to do it for me at this point of my life.”

“I understand, Auntie. Should we bring a pillow for your stool?”

“I am a capable and strong old woman.”

“Absolutely. I'll just put some of your things in my basket, that will save us time.”

“No, you won't-”

“Who is it, Fauna?”

Aunt Fauna growled at Rumpelstiltskin, a hand firmly held around the handle of her basket, but looked at the bedroom door. “It's your stubborn son, here to imply I'm old and useless.”

“Aunt Flora, will you please tell Auntie that you raised me to be a gentleman?”

“I cannot,” she said. “You haven't even bothered to come give your Auntie a kiss.”

Rumple held on to the basket Fauna was trying to pry from his hand. “Auntie, I'm a little busy!”

“Don't make me get up!” she threatened.

He sighed and gave up the fight for the basket. Fauna let out a “ _Aha!_ ” and started transferring wool back into it, as Rumpelstiltskin went into the bedroom to find his Aunt propped up against a pile of pillows. Flora had always been taller than Fauna, but spending so much time in bed was starting to curve her back and turn her skin pale. Still her smile was warm when she said, “My beautiful boy.”

“Good morning, Auntie Flora.” He placed a kiss on top of her head and smoothed down her raven hair, not a hair of silver despite her age. She didn't seem to be in pain, but if she hadn't even gotten out of bed it could only mean the arthritis was particularly bad that morning. “How's the hip?”

“Can't complain.”

“Ha!” Fauna shouted from the living room. “Since when?”

“Don't mind her, dear. Just yesterday I took a lovely walk in the forest. I'm sure I'll be up in no time.”

“That's good, Auntie,” he said, sitting on the bed to pat her hand. “We miss you at the market.” He lowered his voice. “You're the only one who can manage-” he cocked his head towards the living room.

Flora laughed. “Don't let the old hag be too hard on you.”

“I won't. How's her back? She keeps saying it's fine, but I-”

“I keep saying it's fine,” Aunt Fauna interrupted, walking into the bedroom, “because it's the bloody truth. Quit using your aunt to spy on me.”

“You use my son to spy on _me_.”

“That's different!”

“How do the two of you ever sell anything, bickering like that all the time?” Flora asked, although she seemed amused.

“We're selling your yarn,” Rumple said, as if the explanation was that simple. “There's no better in all the realms.”

Flora smiled at him. “Your Auntie tells me there is a ball coming.”

“Yes, it's for Sir Maurice's daughter,” Rumple said, already getting up, feeling a familiar sting on his ankle and wondering how long he'd have before he was the one confined to a bed. “It's her birthday.”

“I bet Milah is excited.”

Unlike Fauna, Flora had a way of saying his wife's name amicably, concealing the resentment she felt for the younger woman.

“She is, very much. She even went back to working at the pub. She wants to buy a beautiful dress.”

“What's wrong with the dresses she already has?” Fauna demanded, ready to start a fight.

“Oh, you don't expect them to go to a Duke's ball dressed like peasants, do you?” Flora said, before Rumple could come up with an excuse.

He nodded, relieved. “Yes. That.”

“We _are_ peasants, dearest,” Fauna argued, as it was her way. “There is no shame in that. And I'm sure Rumple will look fine in whatever he chooses to wear.”

They looked at him, expecting him to take sides. He hated those looks.

“Oh, I haven't decided just yet,” he confessed. “I'll let you know.”

Flora groaned, pushing herself to sit up straight on the bed.

Both Rumple and Fauna hurried closer, insisting, “No, no, Auntie, don't get up.”

“Don't be a stubborn mule, Flora. You know what the doctor said.”

“Will my two nurses give me some space to breathe? I am not getting up.”

Quite the opposite, she leaned over the edge of the bed and reached for something underneath.

“Auntie, I can-”

“I'm not dead yet, Rumpelstiltskin.”

She pulled a bag from under the bed, but didn't make the effort of bringing it up.

“There,” she sighed, settling back against her pillows, looking exhausted. “That might help.”

“Oh!” Fauna said, starting to smile. “Oh! Of _course_!”

“Of course what?” Rumpelstiltskin frowned and opened the bag. “What is this?”

Flora almost laughed. “I'm sorry, didn't we teach you how to sew?”

“One would think you'd recognize clothes,” Fauna added.

“I know they are clothes. I meant why do you have them?”

“We have a lot of clothing,” Flora said, dismissive.

“We are, after all, seamstresses, are we not?” Fauna asked.

He frowned his nose, remembering their poor sewing skills. The people in the village would only come to them as a last resort, and the results were often less than satisfactory if he wasn't there to guide the outcome. They had taught him how to use a needle, yes, they knew how to do that much, but if he could make a pair of pants that didn't fall apart at the first touch, it had very little to do with them.

“Fine!” Aunt Fauna gave in, knowing exactly what was going through his mind. “So we're not the _best_ seamstresses in the village.”

“The point is, some clients were very unsatisfied with these and left them behind,” Flora told him. “You're bound to find something there that fits you.”

“You'll have to fix them,” Fauna soon added. “But I'm sure they're still fashionable.”

“Aunties, you shouldn't just give these to me,” he said, rummaging through the clothing. Nothing was particularly fancy, but the fabric did feel better than what he was currently wearing. Some of the embroidery seemed to shine like gold in the morning light. “I could fix them all and to sell at the market.”

Flora seemed appalled by the mere suggestion. “Selll them all? No, no.”

“There has to be something there you like,” Fauna said.

“I will not allow my son to go to a lady's ball dressed as a scarecrow!”

“Thank you, Auntie,” Rumpelstiltskin grumbled, though he knew they were probably right. He did look like a scrawny scarecrow. Not exactly royal ball material. But these were difficult times. Although two years had passed since the defeating of the Ogres and prospects were looking up under Sir Maurice's management, they still had a long way to go – and for the village coward, the road would be twice as long.

Aunt Flora could see he was struggling with the issue, so she suggested, very gently, “Listen, I'll make you a deal. You keep whatever you like from this bag, the nicest vest and jacket, no less. What's left is yours to do as you please.”

“But only after the ball,” Aunt Fauna emended.

“Yes. You already have enough work as it is.”

“And don't tell Milah,” Fauna added, hurriedly. “Make it a surprise.”

The golden embroidery was sure to impress her. Not even she could say he wasn't dressed appropriately.

“Thank you,” he said, closing the bag.

“It is our pleasure, dear love,” Flora smiled. “And we can watch Bae for you. So you and Milah can have some fun.”

“Yes,” Fauna agreed, a little reluctant. After a beat, she tried to smile as well and sound optimistic. “Maybe that's what you need to rekindle your marriage.”

 

*

 

Belle tried to remain attentive of Regina and her movements, her face shadowed by a large hat, as predicted. But once the carriage started moving, she felt her attention drifting from her tutor to the world on the other side of the window. She hadn't gone this far from home in at least a decade, since her engagement announcement, which had been celebrated in Gaston's estate. After that, the Ogres confined her to the house, along with Gaston's jealousy. Regina soon followed. Now, even with her tutor breathing down her neck, the whole thing felt like an adventure.

The large gates to the estate gave way to pastoral scenes that gave way to the forests, and soon Belle couldn't hold back the question anymore.

“Where are we going?”

“You'll see,” Regina answered, enigmatic.

Belle tried to smile, “Can we go to Avonlea? I haven't been to the market in so long.”

Belle stared outside with big eyes, full of expectation. On the window, Regina's reflection looked at her with curiosity. After a few minutes, she asked, “You do love this little land, don't you?”

“How could I not? It is my home.”

“It isn't,” Regina said, matter-of-factly. “You _moved_ here.”

“Well, it is my home now,” Belle replied with a little shrug.

Regina nodded. Then, she said, “I always did wonder what made your father come to an Ogre ridden land on the verge of bankruptcy when he could have been safe in the south with his wife and child.”

Belle doubted that Regina would understand the concept of bravery and sacrifice if she tried to explain it, so she didn't. It would be as unfamiliar to her as the duty to help those in need.

Regina didn't push the subject and Belle enjoyed the silence to look carefully at the forest. When she was a child, she used to dream of chasing fairies into the night. Even now, she still had a sliver of hope that she might see one if only she paid attention.

“You father is doing a rather wonderful job at the land, did you know that?” Regina continued after a few minutes. Belle tried to block out her voice, but it was impossible. “Restoring it to its former glory.”

Belle grumbled noncommittally.

“You do know what would help the land, don't you?”

She turned to glare at Regina. There it was. The real reason for her friendliness. She wanted to talk about an alliance. Something that could guarantee trades, armies and financial assistance. Preferably, with a powerful Kingdom. And alliances through marriage were always the stronger ones.

Belle decided not to say a word.

“Of course you do,” Regina grinned, realizing she was getting under Belle's skin. “You are a smart girl, after all.”

“And as a smart girl,” Belle said, coldly, “I've seen my father's work and his projections, and I know, as well as him, that we'll pull through this crisis.”

Regina raised her hands, as if offering a surrender. “Believe me, I don't question your father's commitment, or his ability to run this land. I only question his practicality. Your hand in marriage would save this land faster than he can. Not to mention, it would guarantee your own future.”

“I suppose he's not afraid of hard work. Nor am I.”

Regina smirked. “You're not very familiar with this land. If you knew them, you'd see your father's hopes are pointless. You might not oppose hard work, but _they_ do.”

“I'm sorry?”

“The peasants,” Regina explained, injecting as much disgust into the word as she could. “Hateful little bunch. They are usually unpleasant in every kingdom. Never shower.” Regina crinkled her nose at the thought of it. “But here, they are particularly revolting. Lazy. Cowardly. No wonder they fought the Ogres for twenty years.”

Belle rolled her eyes and looked out of the window.

Regina seemed amused. “You don't agree with me.”

“You made it clear you do not care for what I think. Lets go back home.”

“If you spent a day in their presence, you'd surely agree with me.”

Belle snapped her head in her direction and said, “Let me be clear. If you invited me for a carriage ride so you could change my mind about the ball or my suitors, you are wasting both your time and mine. My father knows what he is doing and I am sure the people of this land are doing their best. So if you think I will just allow you to decide my fate, you have another thing coming.” She turned back to the window. “I want to go back home, _immediately_.”

“I didn't invite you just for the conversation, dear Belle,” Regina said, ignoring her orders. “I invited you to teach you a lesson.”

Belle turned to face her again, “Have you not heard a word I-” she started asking, but Regina blew a handful of ashes on her face, making her choke and cough.

“What do you think you're doing?” Belle cried out. She raised her hand to fend off Regina – and possibly slap her, if she could only _accidentally_ find her cheek. However, Regina took a hold of her wrist and pushed her back against the carriage door, which opened easily to allow Belle to roll off into the road with a squeal.

When she managed to look up from the dirt, she could see Regina's smile fading at the distance, along with the sound of her laughter, and her enormous hat. She waved. “Enjoy the peasants, my dear!” she shouted from the carriage. “We'll be waiting for you at dinner!”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle makes a decision and meets someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: MaddieBonanaFana

The carriage was long gone by the time Belle's head stopped spinning and she managed to get to her feet, still confused about what had just happened – or just finding it very hard to believe. Regina had pushed her out of the carriage. Out of _her_ – _moving_ – carriage. Now she had scratc hes on her arms and legs and dirt on her skin. A quick check also revealed twigs in her hair, which she started picking immediately. It would take forever to wash everything off. Not to mention that her favorite dress was now ruined. If it could be cleaned at all, there were quite a few rips to be mended.

 _My mother made_ _me this dress_ , she thought, lachrymose.

What to do now? Sitting by the side of the road and waiting for her father to come to her rescue was an option. He was bound to be furious at Regina the moment he found out what happened. That's assuming he found out at all. Regina would probably keep it a secret for as long as she could.

“Belle, Your Grace? Oh, she wanted to walk back. She was dying to pick some flowers. But don't worry. She is bound to be here for dinner.”

Yes, that sounded more like her. If she didn't show up for a couple of days, then she'd tell him the truth and deal with the consequences. And if Belle got lost or hurt or kidnapped or murdered-

“ _Stop it!_ ” she told herself. “You're fine! You're going to be fine!”

She wasn't in the middle of nowhere. Regina had dropped her far from the house, but it was still the side of the road. She knew this area. She had studied the maps many times during the war, even if it had been quite some time since she was allowed this far from home. There was no reason why she couldn't find her way back if she just used her head.

Lets see. The carriage went south. Regina could have turned it around and headed back north, but  instead she carried on along the road. It was very likely that she wanted to buy herself some time before having to face  her father . She'd probably  ride around the nearest town and take the east road back to the house. If Belle just made the way back north, she might get there before Regina did. They hadn't gone too far after all.  And then she'd go to her father and tell him of th is horrible thing her tutor had done and demand that she be sent away. Maurice wouldn't be able to argue against that once he saw the bruises and scratches. This time, Regina had gone too far.

However, she could  also go south.

Belle looked at the road, where the carriage had just vanished. Wasn't she always complaining that she was no longer allowed to go anywhere? Wasn't she tired of being inside the house all the time?  Wasn't she sick of having Regina always breathing down her neck?

Well, now Regina was nowhere to be found, and she was free to go wherever she wanted to. And Avonlea was, what? One hour away by foot? She could go to the market! She had such fond memories of it as a child. Had it changed much in a decade? It probably had.

And now she had the opportunity of seeing it by herself.

With a final glance up the road, Belle turned and walked south.

_Let Regina explain to Father why I'm not there for lunch_ , she thought.  _Let Regina go to hell_ .

 

*

 

The walk was supposed to take no more than an hour, but Belle couldn't help but stop every ten minutes because she found something new and curious to observe every step of the way. Flowers that she hadn't seen in a decade. Peddlers pulling their carts, huffing and puffing and cursing under their breaths. Peasants guiding large animals towards the market. And they only grew in number as she approached Avonlea. But nothing prepared her to the madness she encountered once she finally reached the town.

After ten years locked in the house, the sound of hundreds of people together in a crowded square was wonderfully deafening. There was so much noise, so many conversations happening at the same time she couldn't keep track of everything. Not to mention the unexpected sound of the animals in the market, birds, cows, horses, all blending with the vendors' voices as they shouted out prices.

Regina would be horrified. The smell alone – a mixture of livestock, fresh bread and _people_ , wonderful, different _people_! - would have been enough to make her faint. But Belle didn't mind it. For years she had been desperate for something that didn't resemble the life she had led so far, and this was exactly that. If she was bound to be locked away again, she would embrace everything without a single complaint.

She had expected to be disappointed, taking into consideration that the Ogre's War had only been put to an end a couple of years before. Avonlea had suffered from it more than most towns, or so she'd heard. Its commerce had been compromised, as well as its structure. But walking through the market now, Belle could hardly tell. They were pulling themselves together quite nicely.

_Though Father should probably help find a better place for the market_ , she thought, making a mental note. The stalls had all been  set at the edge of town, where there was more space, and still all vendors were crammed together . Some merchants had set up their trade so close to the woods Belle wondered if they got customers at all. How did they earn a living? Yes, rebuilding the market should be a priority. And visiting other towns to better assess their needs. She could volunteer to do that herself.

Belle was so caught up in her own thoughts that she didn't notice a group of young boys standing right behind her, following her closely, biding their time. They knew that the coward who sold yarn and wool was mild, but the old hag who was always with him looked like she could snap them in half – and had threatened to do so many times in the past. Instead of simply running by and kicking the rickety stall down, they'd have to be clever. And the lady with the long cape seemed like the perfect instrument for their devilish intentions.

As she reached the end of the market and the sound of the crowd became less intense, Belle felt immediately attracted to the last vendors. They seemed to be humbler than the others, relegated to one of the worst spots, near a half crumbled wall that had probably been torn apart by an ogre attack. But their tiny stall was one of the most colorful, full of yarn and wool that had been carefully dyed. They seemed to have a strong preference for red and green, as both colors seemed to fight each other for most of the space.

Behind the stall, there was a woman whose blond hair was fading to white, but whose eyes still had a bright cleverness. At her side, a man who seemed to be considerably younger was hunched over a coat he was trying to mend. She noticed Belle immediately, but he was too busy to look up.

“What will it be for you today, Miss?” the woman asked, jumping from her stool so fast Belle took a step back.

“Oh, I am, I don't know,” she stammered.

“This is the finest thread you can find in all of the Frontlands, Miss,” she said. “My boy can spin a thread as fine as gold.”

Her son put down the coat and reached for a staff to help push himself up. Despite being younger, he seemed a lot less agile than his mother.

“Auntie, don't scare the customer,” he said, softly, finally looking at Belle.

Belle barely had time to register that, no, not her son, her nephew, when the group of boys ran into her. The biggest elbowed her in the back, hard, pushing her forward. Belle tried to keep her balance, but her hands fell on the stall and it collapsed under her weight. The only reason she didn't fall on top of it was because of the man, who reached out to hold her by the shoulders. His staff fell on the ground and, for a moment, she feared they might have the same fate because he swayed dangerously without its support. But he regained balance in time.

“There! I got you,” he said, even though he was wincing in pain.

“Oh, no!” Belle said, looking at the mess of colors and thread. “Oh, no, I am so sorry!”

The man whispered, “It's fine, Miss. It's not your fault.”

But the older woman was not as subtle, choosing to shout after the boys, “You scoundrels! You think I do not know what you did? You come back here _right now_!”

Her nephew said, “Leave it, Auntie.” And knelt down to pick up the mess.

“Oh, no! Not this time! Wait here!”

“No, Auntie,” he said, distressed, but the older woman walked away with surprising energy.

He seemed to debate with himself whether he should follow her, but decided that putting everything to order was the priority and continued to pick up the skeins from the floor.

Belle knelt down in front of him and did the same.

“What are you doing?” he asked, suddenly very alarmed.

“Helping you, of course,” she answered.

“Why? This wasn't your doing.”

Belle shrugged. “Wasn't yours either. Wouldn't it be faster if I helped you?”

He blinked, then frowned, seemingly confused by her kindness. But ultimately, he lowered his head and said, “Thank you, Miss.”

“Do they do that a lot?” Belle asked.

“The lads? Sometimes. They like to cause trouble, and they know people won't make a fuss.”

“Why wouldn't people make a fuss? Seems very wrong to me.”

Belle heard him scoff and mutter, “You must be new.”

Belle thought quickly. “I... haven't been here in many years. Things have changed.”

“Indeed,” he agreed, but offered no further explanation on the matter. He got up, supporting himself on his crooked staff and, with her help, set the stall up again. “Thank you for your troubles, Miss.”

“It was no trouble at all. I _did_ push your stall.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but stopped. Instead, he frowned and said, “You have ash on your face, Miss.”

Belle blushed. “Yes. And twigs in my hair.”

“Forgive me, I didn't mean to be rude.”

“You weren't.”

She rubbed her cheeks again, but her hands were just as dirty.

He said, “No, don't, that won't work.”

“I twisted those boys' ears so hard the little bastards will think twice before pulling this again!” the older woman raged, returning to the stall.

“Aunt Fauna! Will you mind your language?” the man said, urgently indicating Belle with a nod. “We have company.”

“Oh! I'm sorry, my dear,” she said, sweetly. “Those brats have been doing this every other week. Were you looking to buy some yarn?”

“I'm sorry, I don't think I have any money with me.”

Belle smoothed her skirt, as if hoping to find a secret pocket there filled with enough golden coins to buy ten skeins and a horse to take her home. Wouldn't _that_ show Regina something?

Instead, she left a long line of ash on the fabric.

“Oh no,” she whispered.

She must have sounded very distressed, because the man turned to his aunt and said, “Auntie, can you handle things for a moment? I'll go show her the well.”

H is aunt stared at him. “Well, I can  _try_ . But I am  _only_ a little old lady. Whatever shall I do if-”

“Is that a yes?” he pressed.

“Yes! Yes! I've been handling this long before you-”

“Thank you,” he told her. To Belle, he said, “My Aunt is a very proud woman. And before you ask, yes. She is always this difficult.”

Belle giggled, despite the situation. “She sounds very lovely, actually.”

“Ha!” his Aunt shouted, sounding victorious. “ _Lovely_! Her words, not mine!”

He shook his head, but couldn't help but smile.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumple helps his strange new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea why it took me so long to update this but I will try to get to the end of this year. I have way too many stories unfinished and I'm trying to solve that.

Rumpelstiltskin thought the young woman might grow impatient of his limping and leave to find the well by herself, but her pace was even slower than his. Every other step she took she stopped, fascinated eyes focused on something seemingly trivial until it got lost in the crowd.

“You really haven't been to the market much,” he said, when she gaped at the sight of a dead wild boar hanging by its hind legs.

“Is it always like this?” she asked, looking around the market one more time as they made their way back, her skirt twirling and her feet moving like those of a skilled ballerina.

“I'm sorry?”

“The market.”

“Is the market always like... what?”

“Noisy!” she explained, excited. “With so many _people_.”

“You make it sound like it's a good thing.”

“Isn't it?”

“Mostly people just complain.”

“Really?” She sounded truly surprised. “But surely people enjoy it. They must! With so many colors and smells, I mean, it's so... _lively_!

He regarded her with curiosity as he limped by her side. “I suppose that is a rather nice way of looking at things, Miss... I don't believe I caught your name.”

“I...” she started, but didn't answer his question.

He hurriedly said, “Forgive me. I didn't mean to overstep-”

“Cinderella.”

Rumpelstiltskin looked at her. Underneath the ashes, the young woman's face was turning red.

“Cinderella,” he repeated.

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Rather ironic.”

“I'm sorry?”

“Cinderella... Cinders. And you are-”

“Covered in ashes, yes,” she nodded. “Yes. Mother was quite eccentric. _Quite_ eccentric indeed. Do you mind if I ask yours?”

Rumpelstiltskin opened his mouth to answer, but changed his mind before the words came out. At best, his ridiculous name would elicit sneering. At worst, she'd have heard of it before and discover that all her kindness had been wasted on the village coward.

After three wobbly steps, he finally admitted, “I'd rather not say it. How did you get ashes on your face?”

His bluntness seemed to catch her out off guard, but she didn't insist.

“Someone decided to teach me a lesson.”

“By rubbing ash on your face?”

“By blowing ash on my face and pushing me to the side of the road, actually.”

Rumpelstiltskin stopped to look at her. “What could you possibly have done to deserve something so harsh?”

Cinderella shrugged. “I suppose I spoke my mind to someone who doesn't appreciate when I do that. And I tend to do that quite frequently.”

“Family or employer?”

“She is _definitely_ not family,” she answered, angrily.

Rumple nodded and started walking again. “Tough employer. I've had my share.”

Cinderella followed him. “You have _no_ idea. I cannot wait to go home and sort this out with her.”

“Is that wise? Times are difficult. I see a lot of young girls struggling to find work.”

She glanced at him, then shook her head. “No. You're right. It probably isn't wise.”

“Do you live far?”

She didn't answer.

“I only ask because I wouldn't like you to walk home after dark,” he explained. “It wouldn't be safe.”

“North. Close to the Duke's estate.” After a beat, she added, “I'm a handmaiden.”

“For Lady Belle?” he asked, incapable of suppressing his own curiosity in the matter.

“I- yes.”

“Was she the one who-”

“No! No! She would never do anything like this. It was her tutor. She didn't like what I said, so she just... pushed me and said I'd have to go to the market by myself.”

“House service is a lot more violent than I imagined.”

“... isn't it? Oh!”

She jumped out of the way to let a very large barrel roll by, an equally large man pushing it, and though he had a threatening look on his face, Cinderella still gave him an enchanted smile as she watched both the man and the barrel disappear into the crowd.

“What do you think it contains?” she asked, full of wonder.

“It's empty, by the sound of it. But it will probably be filled with spirits.”

Cinderella looked at him with haunted eyes, and now he was the one with the smile on his face.

“Scotch,” he said. “Not actual-”

She broke into laughter. “Yes, of _course_. How silly of me. Although, this place is so filled with all sorts of things that you could hardly blame me.”

“I'd have thought someone who's seen the Duke's estate would hardly be impressed by our humble market.”

“Yes, it's truly magnificent,” she agreed. “But it gets too quiet sometimes.”

As they resumed their walk to the well, her wonder didn't seem to cease. Rumple made sure to keep an eye on her, following her slow steps wherever they led if she strayed from their path. Her head seemed to be in the clouds and, if she lost her way, he might never find her again.

“We are all very excited for Lady Belle's upcoming ball,” he said, thinking a conversation might keep her focused. He wasn't a man known for his words; people hardly ever asked for his opinion, and Aunt Fauna tended to do most of the talking when clients came to their stall. Given that the girl was so easy to impress, though, he didn't think this would be too hard.

“Was that what you were sewing?” Cinderella asked, referring to the coat he had been mending when she approached their stall.

“Yes. My wife won't have me show up in rags. There isn't much I can do about my boots, though.”

She followed his gaze to his scuffed boots, though he wished she hadn't. The state of them was truly shameful.

Cinderella smiled, though. “I'm sure she won't mind what you wear.”

“She's a lady,” he pointed out. “She'd be repelled by it.”

“Not at all!” she insisted. “In fact, I dare say she would find everything here very... exciting. You know, she hasn't been allowed to interact with the people of the Frontlands in a decade. She misses it.”

“I only hope she won't find us unpleasant. Or filthy.”

“So far, you've only been kind. I'll make sure to tell her that. Oh thank god! Water!”

Cinderella threw herself at the well so fast that Rumpelstiltskin feared she might tumble inside, but she didn't. Turning the lever seemed difficult for her. He could tell by how soft her hands looked that she wasn't used to manual labor, and the rust on the lever didn't make it any easier. She might be a servant, but she was probably used to a much more comfortable life than the rest of them.

“I'll help you.”

“No, no,” she urged him, before he had the chance to put down his staff. “Let me. I want to give it a try.”

And try she did, putting all of her weight onto the lever and growing breathless, but after a few minutes of struggle, she managed to pull a full bucket out of the well.

“I did it! I did it!” she cheered, making him laugh.

What a strange girl.

She cupped her hands in the water and splashed it on her face, and then looked back at him, her face soaked and looking even happier than before.

“I detest the feeling of dirt on my skin.”

“I can understand. Here.” He took a gray handkerchief from his pocket. It looked as beaten down as his boots. “So you can dry yourself. It's very clean, I promise.”

She thanked him and took the handkerchief from his hand.

“Do I still have ash on my face?” she asked, looking up.

Rumple covered his mouth so she wouldn't see him grinning. She was rather endearing. “Just... everywhere.”

“I don't suppose you have a mirror?”

“...In my pockets?”

Cinderella shook her head. “Of course. Another silly question. You must find me insane.”

“Not insane.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, requesting another word instead.

“ _Peculiar_ , perhaps,” he said, his tone careful as to not offend her.

“Peculiar, I think, is a nice thing for a lady to be. At least, sometimes.”

She sat by the well and tried to find her reflection on the water, rubbing his wet handkerchief on her cheeks and neck. Her hands were so delicate and moved with such grace that she might as well have been a princess standing in front of a mirror, were it not by the twigs in her hair and the fact that her dress was torn in several places.

Rumpelstiltskin turned around as a way to give her privacy, which, given the crowd around them, could be considered pointless, but it simply didn't feel decent to watch as the girl washed herself. Yet, she did it out in the open, with no shame, letting the water drip between her fingers and down her neck. Heads began to turn and Rumpelstiltskin knew that getting too much attention was never a good thing.

Most passerby glanced at her and continued on their way, though a few men might have broken their necks, unable to look away. One in particular, though, had found a spot near the wall and had been watching her intently for a while now. A broad man, who stood stiff and with his chin held high, much like a soldier would. Sometimes, his eyes would shift from Cinderella to him and, when they did, Rumpelstiltskin got a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. The man was just waiting for him to walk away so he could make his move on the girl.

“Perhaps we should move, Miss,” he whispered to her.

Cinderella looked up. She'd managed to wash away most of the ash. Despite the fact that her hair was still rather messy, she'd managed to pick the twigs out and push it behind her ears, revealing a round, porcelain face. She was indeed a beautiful girl.

“Pardon me, you have to go back to your stall, don't you?” she asked. “I've taken so much of your time already.”

Rumpelstiltskin was about to say that, no, he didn't mind it at all, when a cold voice right behind him demanded, “Is this man bothering you, my Lady?”

He flinched. Seemed like the man had grown tired of waiting.

“I am only helping her find her way-”

“Did I speak to you?” the other man snapped, harshly. His voice was authoritarian, like that of a man who was used to giving out orders and having others follow them without question.

Cinderella shot to her feet. “It's alright, sir. This man is only being helpful.”

“I'll escort you home, my Lady,” he insisted, as if he hadn't heard her speak. “It is not right for a young lady to be associated with a man of his reputation.”

Rumpelstiltskin sighed. There it was. _His reputation_. Cinderella looked at him briefly, and Rumpelstiltskin could almost hear the question she wanted to ask, to which the soldier would gladly provide an answer to.

“Sir,” she said, focusing her eyes on the other man, “I am more than capable of deciding who I should or should not associate with. I do not require your help.”

“Miss, it's-it's alright,” Rumpelstiltskin said.

The man took a step forward, blocking his view of her. If he tried to drag the girl away, there wasn't much he could do about it.

“As I was saying, my Lady,” he continued, “a young woman such as yourself wouldn't want her good name soiled by associating with cowards-”

From behind the soldier, came her challenging voice, “What I wouldn't want is to waste my time with this pointless conversation. Step aside, please.”

Rumpelstiltskin saw the other man stiffen at the fire in her voice. He bent over and whispered, “A wise girl should know when to keep her pretty mouth shut.”

“And a true gentleman should know when his presence is no longer welcomed.”

With that, she walked around him to look at Rumpelstiltskin.

“My friend, will you escort me, please?”

“I...” he looked at the other man, whose face was now turning red. It was enough to make him shake like a leaf. “Of course, Miss. As long as you don't mind.”

“Not at all. I insist.”

They walked away side by side. Rumpelstiltskin looked over his shoulder once, to check and see if the man wasn't following them closely, but he remained by the well, fuming as he watched them go.

He only began breathing again when they turned a corner.

“What is wrong?” she asked, oblivious.

“You shouldn't speak to people the way you just did.”

“The Duke entertains soldiers quite regularly. I'm quite used to them.”

“That wasn't a soldier.”

“Sure he was,” she said, making him frown. “I could tell by his stance.”

“Well, be that as it may, this isn't the Duke's estate, Cinderella. Even soldiers can be quite unsavory. You're lucky he didn't strike you across the face.”

She blinked at him. “Well, that doesn't seem right.”

“Pardon me?”

“That men who are supposed to make you feel safe could just do whatever they want. Something should be done about it,” she declared.

“Is that so?”

“Yes. It's imperative. The Frontlands can't thrive if its citizens are too afraid of its soldiers, and its soldiers treat the citizens so carelessly. And the market, our economy depends on it, yet I don't believe single representative has seen the state of it. And if this is the way Avonlea is run, I cannot imagine what is happening away from the city.”

Rumpelstiltskin stared at her. The word _peculiar_ was slowly giving way to the word _crazy_. Cinderella stared right back, challenging him to point flaws in her thought process.

“You're a handmaiden and I'm a spinner,” he stated.

“Yes. That I am. I mean-”

“It might be wise for you to accept there isn't much we can do.”

“I could speak to the Duke.”

He almost laughed. “ _You_?”

“I mean, I could speak to Lady Belle. And _she_ could speak to the Duke. He'd be horrified if he knew the way that man just spoke to me.”

“You give our rulers too much credit, Miss.”

“Why? Do you believe that they do not care for this land?”

“I'd never say that. I am very grateful for what Sir Maurice did for us. He's the reason my boy won't have to fight the Ogres in a pointless war. I feel like I owe him an immense debt of gratitude. And I know the people agree with me.”

“However?”

“However...” he shook his head. “It's not my place to say.”

“You think they could do more,” she said. “I think they could. So much effort has been put into foreign diplomacy and rebuilding good relationships with other kingdoms that they forgot their people.”

“You're quite educated for a handmaiden,” he said, impressed.

“I wouldn't say I'm educated. I just... I hear things. Sometimes.”

“Right. Just don't barge into the Duke's chambers to start a revolution. I'd hate to see another unemployed young lady. Now, where would you like to go?”

Cinderella looked down the street and even took a couple of steps, but then turned around.

“I'd like to ask you a question.”

Rumpelstiltskin raised an eyebrow.

“If I can answer.”

“About Lady Belle.”

“Yes?”

“What do they say of her?”

He sighed. At least that was an easy question to answer.

“I don't partake in gossip,” he said, “but what I've heard is that she is a very beautiful girl.”

Cinderella waited. “Is that all?”

“The most beautiful in all the land. Perhaps all realms.”

He waited for another round of political rambling, though lord knows what would provoke it this time. Instead, Cinderella seemed to deflate.

“Right,” she said, and resumed her walking.

“You seem upset.”

“I'm not.”

He could see she was lying, though. Where before her steps were merry, now she walked a straight line, not even bothering to look up at the trivial things that had incited her curiosity before.

After a couple of minutes, she confessed, “They want to find her a suitor.”

“That's a lovely thought.”

She glanced up long enough for him to catch the expression on her face.

“That's... not... a lovely thought?”

“I don't believe she's very keen on it.”

“No, I imagine it's difficult. Given what happened to her betrothed-”

“She didn't care for her betrothed.”

She stopped walking abruptly.

“Cinderella?”

“What a horrible thing for me to say.”

“It's not horrible.”

“She cared. She just never loved him. Not as much as he loved her.”

“Was that what she said?”

“It's just... how I feel. And now that he's dead the easiest way to repair this land would be with another political alliance. Or so they told her. I don't know. I don't know anything, I suppose. I'm... shielded.”

He watched her as she looked up from the ground and took in the town around her. This time, it didn't make her smile.

“Perhaps they're right,” she concluded. “A marriage is a small sacrifice for the good of the people.”

“Marriage shouldn't be a sacrifice.”

Cinderella's eyes focused on him.

Rumpelstiltskin cleared his throat. “I mean, I know nothing of politics, but marriage is too essential. You don't know it yet because you're too young, but I do.”

“People marry out of convenience all the time,” she argued.

“Yes. But still. She shouldn't be forced to settle for less than love and happiness. It does no one any good to be trapped in such a bitter arrangement.”

She smiled. “I bet you and your wife are very happy together.”

“We have ups and downs.”

Thankfully, the sudden sound of music captured her attention and she held back any questions she might have on the happiness of his marriage. Her eyes began to shine again.

“Musicians!” she cried out, and ran towards them like a child.

“Cinderella, wait!”

Rumpelstiltskin limped right behind as she followed the sound through the crowded streets until she found her way to the main square. Three men had just began playing a flute, a violin, and a trumpet, filling the square with joyful music. The people clapped along and some had begun to dance.

Cinderella stood at her tiptoes, trying to catch a glimpse of them over the heads of other men and women.

Rumpelstiltskin caught up to her just in time to hear her mourn, “Oh, it's been _ages_ since I last danced.”

“I could say the same,” he said, breathless.

Cinderella turned around.

“Perhaps we'll have our chance at Lady Belle's ball?” he suggested.

“Perhaps we will,” she agreed.

“I should go back to my aunt now. But do go home before it gets dark.”

“I will. Thank you, my friend.”

He made a curtsy and turned around.

“Uhn, friend!” she called him. “Your yarn, it looked as fine as gold.”

“Well, thank you, Miss.”

“I can tell that Lady Belle would love some of it. Her dress is not yet finished.”

“Of my yarn? Nonsense, she must have her own spinners, who'd do a much finer job.”

“She does not, actually. I know. And I'll tell her of your work. It'd please her to have something of the man who helped me.”

“She must be as kind as she is beautiful, then. And you must be very good friends.”

“Yes. We are. Will you be here next Sunday?”

“And every Sunday after that. She just has to ask for Miss Fauna's stall.”

“Is that your aunt?”

“Yes.”

“And haven't I earned your name?”

Rumpelstiltskin bit his tongue. “It's a rather ugly name.”

“Then you can be my mysterious friend.”

She bowed to him, and Rumpelstiltskin had to laugh.

“You are a peculiar girl indeed.”

She giggled.

“But perhaps you're right,” he said. “Peculiar is a good thing to be, sometimes.”

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle comes home and Rumple receives an unexpected present.

Night had already fallen and Sir Maurice's frantic pacing picked up some speed as his stride took him from one side of the dining room to the other.

“I cannot believe you did something so cruel,” he said, face twisted in anger.

Regina, however, was unfazed as she finished her dinner. Maurice had refused to eat, but there was no reason not to go on with their night as planned just because the girl was taking a little longer to find her way home. What a pity. She was probably sitting on a rock somewhere, sobbing and hoping for her Papa to come and find her, since the peasants had proven to be less than helpful.

“You will be thanking me tomorrow, Your Grace,” she told him.

“My only daughter,” he mourned, giving no indication that he'd heard a word Regina had said. “My only _child_! My poor, helpless little girl, alone in the woods with no way back home.”

Regina had to control herself not to roll her eyes at him. That girl had her father wrapped around her little finger.

“Something had to be done about your daughter, Your Grace,” she said, showing neither Belle nor Maurice any mercy. “Your _little girl_ was getting rebellious and ill-mannered. To invite the commoners to her ball? That is not the way for a highborn woman to behave. Or any woman, for that matter. She needs to grow up, and she needs to learn her place.”

“But to leave her out there-”

“All she needs is an afternoon surrounded by those filthy people to realize her mistake. You shall see. By the time she finds her way back home, she'll have regretted this ridiculous idea and beg us to cancel the invitation.”

“But she's all alone!” he all but shouted.

Sometimes, Regina couldn't decide who was more difficult to deal with, father or daughter. With the Duke, however, she had to be patient.

“I have already told you, Your Grace, that I have someone keeping a close eye on her.”

“But she doesn't know. What if your man loses sight of her and she gets lost?”

“She will return in one piece. And then we will have a serious talk about her suitors- what is this?” Regina snapped, as a footman approached her in silence. “We're in the middle of dinner. Is this entire house falling apart?”

“Pardon me, Lady Mills,” the man said, bowing his head and looking like he wanted to be anywhere but interrupting her dinner, “but there is a man here to see you. William Hordor. He said it's urgent.”

Regina blinked at the young man. “William Hordor? Are you sure?”

“Quite sure, my Lady.”

Regina pushed her chair back. “Bring him to my study.”

“What is it?” Maurice asked.

Regina gave him a reassuring smile. “It's nothing, Your Grace. I'll be back in a moment.” And disappeared before the Duke could notice her face growing paler. This couldn't be good. Hordor wasn't supposed to come to her discreetly. Regina had been very clear in her instructions, he was supposed to walk the girl through the front door. She'd been waiting for hours now for the moment he'd walk a crying Belle home, safe and sound and shaken, just the way she'd planned.

“What is this?” she demanded, once Hordor was brought to her study. “Where is the girl?”

“I lost her.”

Regina felt a surge of anger and the only thing that kept her from screaming at the top of her lungs, “You _lost_ the Duke's daughter?” was that the Duke himself would have heard her and blamed the mess on her.

“I tried to approach her, as you said. I was going to bring her home through the swamp. My men were ready to give that girl a scare, but-”

“But _what_?” she demanded. “What could've _possibly_ stopped you?”

“She met someone. A peasant. He was helping her-”

“What peasant?”

“I don't know him. A lame. I asked around and they said he's the village-”

“A man,” Regina said, feeling breathless. “You left that girl _alone_ with a strange _man_.”

“I tried to follow her,” Hordor protested, “but the market was crowded-”

“Why didn't you just grab her when you had the chance?”

“But Lady Mills, you said she had to think it was her idea. I _asked_ her. Rather nicely. But she wouldn't come. And after that-”

“After that you should have dragged her home kicking and screaming! Not leave her alone in a strange place with a strange _man_!” she shouted, making the other man recoil. Hordor had faced ogres before, but something about that woman scared him more than any beast.

“We're looking for her, Lady Mills,” he said.

“Go look faster!”

Regina kicked the nearest coffee table over, sending porcelain crashing on the floor. Hordor turned around and scurried away as fast as he could, leaving Regina to huff and puff and wonder at just how much trouble she'd gotten herself into.

This was a disaster. If word got around the girl was associating herself with strange men bellow her station Regina would never find her a suitable husband. That was, if she ever found Belle at all.

No, no, there was no reason to panic yet. A night in the woods might actually have a better result than being taken through a swamp. There would be bugs there, ready to gnaw and crawl on her delicate skin.

There would also be wolves.

And Ogres.

The Duke was going to kill her.

Regina marched back to the dining room, putting together a quick speech about how it was all Hordor's fault and how they shouldn't waste any time before putting together a search party because Belle's well being was her top priority, when a familiar voice made her stop.

“Papa! You'll squeeze the air out of my lungs!”

She opened the door. Belle was standing there, her feet barely touching the ground as her father wrapped his arms around her tiny frame.

“My beautiful little girl!” Maurice said, close to tears. “Where have you been? Look at you! You're filthy! Regina, look what you did to her!”

Regina, caught off guard by the sudden sight of Belle – smiling, happy, and in one piece – couldn't think of anything to say to defend herself.

To her surprise, Belle saved her from having to say anything at all.

“No, Papa, it's alright. Regina did me a favor.”

“She did?”

“I did?” Regina asked, looking even more confused than Maurice.

“I just had the most _wonderful_ time at the market!” Belle said, her voice so full of joy it sounded nearly musical. “I haven't had so much fun in _years_!”

“But Belle, look at your dress. Your beautiful hair.”

“It doesn't matter. I saw so many things, and I learned so much today.”

“How did you find your way home?” was all Regina could ask.

“I met a trio of musicians who were on their way home. They walked me here to make sure I was safe.”

“You allowed three strange men to walk you home?” Regina growled. “Have you no good sense?”

“You pushed my only heir off a moving carriage and you're going to preach about good sense?” Maurice snapped back, making Regina go quiet.

Belle smiled in an infuriating, victorious way.

“They behaved like gentlemen, Papa. And their music was so wonderful that I asked that they play at my ball.”

“What? Have you lost you-” Regina tried, but Belle didn't give her the chance.

“And there was a spinner, too,” she continued. “A truly kind man. He showed me around the market. Him and his wife will be attending my ball.”

“I suppose you want to give them a place at the table,” Regina said, making Belle's smile turn cold.

“Don't worry, Regina, I wouldn't dare expose them to your lack of manners,” Belle said, focusing her eyes on her just for a second before turning back to her father. “But I'd like to buy him a gift. I want him to know that he is welcomed.”

“This nonsense has gone far enough,” Regina said, pointing a finger at her. “No! You may not buy that spinner a gift, and your ball will not have a...” She waved a hand in the air to signal just how ludicrous that idea was, “...a folk band in your ball. You will behave like a lady and you will interact with your own kind-”

“Regina!” Maurice said, loud enough to make her stop. “That filthy spinner made sure my daughter was safe, and the that folk band has brought her home to me. Her own kind, however, threw her out of a carriage and left her in the woods to die.”

“ _She didn't die! Look at her!_ ” Regina protested.

“My darling,” he turned to Belle, “if it makes you happy, then you may have your band, and you may buy that man whatever you want.”

Belle smiled from ear to ear. “Thank you, Papa. And you know what? I think you were right.”

“How so?”

“It was time to stop mourning and start living again. Getting out of the house just showed me there is so much to see out there, so many things I need to do.”

Maurice sighed. “I'm happy to hear that, my darling. Now, go wash yourself, I'll have the cook prepare your supper.”

“Will you join me? I want to tell you about the day I had. The market, the... the _people_.”

“Of course I'll join you, my dear. But now go put on something clean.”

Belle turned around and practically skipped merrily out of the room.

Regina stared at her with her mouth hanging open in disbelief. She was playing a part. She had to be. And that damn Hordor. He only had one task. How did he lose her to a _lame spinner_?

“I have half a mind to have you thrown out of my house right now,” Maurice said, his voice low and so serious that it caught Regina's attention. He was dead serious in his threat.

“Your Grace, I was only-”

“However, as terrible as you might have been, I cannot argue with your results.”

“My results?”

“Didn't you see the look on her face?” he asked. “That is the happiest I've seen my daughter in ten years.”

Regina nodded as if she understood, even though it made no sense to her. Her only job was to make sure the kingdom thrived and that his daughter's future was secured in a good marriage. Belle's happiness wasn't a factor she took into consideration very often.

“Let her have her ball, Regina,” Maurice said, gently. “Perhaps boosting the people's morale is just what we need.”

 

*

 

After much work, his jacket and vest were coming along quite nicely, and Aunt Fauna had now taken into her own hands to help him practice his rusty dancing skills. Flora had been the one to teach him, some twenty years before, and he'd gotten rather good at it, but Fauna was no less of a teacher. Whenever he could find himself a couple of minutes he'd steal away to their house and practice. He thought that Milah might protest, but she didn't. Given that the ball would be in a few weeks, she was trying to work as many hours at the pub as she could. Bae and Rumple hardly saw her at the house anymore.

Though Rumpelstiltskin didn't like to admit it, even to himself, her absence did leave a quietness around the house that he welcomed with a sense of relief. He didn't like the thought of being without her, nor did he like to think about what she might be up to at the pub, despite the fact that she hadn't been inebriated once since the ball had been announced. However, the time when Milah was not around was undeniably easier. Perhaps these moments of solitude would help rekindle their marriage just as much as the celebration they'd attend together.

“We'll have to make you a decent cane,” Aunt Fauna said the following Sunday. “No gentleman would appear to a ball with a staff.”

He laughed. “Can you make a cane?”

“I could try,” she said, in her stubborn way.

“It's alright, Aunt Fauna,” he said. “I'll leave it aside as much as I can.”

If it was up to him, he'd dance with Milah the entire night, his leg be damned. Just the night before she'd declared she'd found a beautiful dress and he couldn't wait to see her in it. She wouldn't be able to point any flaws in his own clothing either. If there was one thing Rumpelstiltskin could do, it was sew. They would be the perfect match.

He held up the vest to show Fauna. “There. What do you think?”

Aunt Fauna let out a whistle. “The sewing is impeccable, as always. I think you'll look quite handsome in it.”

“Are you Miss Fauna?”

Aunt Fauna looked up at the man who'd approached their stall. A soldier, dressed in the black uniform all men of the front wore. Once, Rumpelstiltskin had had one just like that, though now the memory of it only brought him shame. A second glance revealed the man to be the same who'd harassed him and Cinderella the week before. The girl really did have an eye to spot soldiers, apparently.

Rumpelstiltskin jumped from his stool, fumbling for his staff and saying, “Listen, we don't want any trouble.”

The soldier growled quietly at him, but managed to keep his temper under control, even though Rumpelstiltskin could feel his anger.

“I have something here for Miss Fauna's nephew. Is this the right place or not?” he asked.

“That would be me.”

“And who might it be from?” Fauna asked.

Again, the man growled, but pulled a note out of his pocket. “Can you read?”

“Of course we can read!”

A package was shoved into Rumpelstiltskin's hands and the note was tossed on top of the yarn.

“What is this?” he asked.

“I'm only here for the delivery,” the soldier said. “Will you just read it?”

Fauna grabbed the note full of curiosity, but Rumpelstiltskin took it from her before she had the chance. If this was nothing but a cruel joke, he'd hate for her to be on the receiving end of it. When he read the careful calligraphy though, his knees started to buckle and he had to sit down.

 

_With the compliments of Lady Belle of Avonlea. Thank you for helping my maid. Your kindness is greatly appreciated and I can only hope you'll accept this as a token of my gratitude. Cinderella has also told me that you can spin a thread as fine as gold, so please give my man two of your best skeins, as I would be honored to use them to finish my dress. Of course, this is a gift, not a payment, and my man has been instructed to give you two silver coins for your service. I hope I'll see you and your wife at the ball and that you will grant me a dance._

 

The name _Belle_ had been signed at the bottom, the letters gracefully looped, almost like a work of art.

“Who is it from?” Aunt Fauna asked, looking over his shoulder. When he showed her the note, her jaw dropped to the floor. “If this is a joke, it is rather cruel,” she said to the man, as threatening as she could sound standing 5'5'' tall and having passed the age of seventy.

“Will you _please_ ,” said the man, “just give me what she has asked for so that I can leave?”

He placed two silver coins on the table.

Fauna looked at them. Real silver coins. They dealt mostly in trade of goods and copper coins. She held them up, examined them carefully. They were real.

The _note_ was real.

As Rumple was still too overwhelmed to say anything, she hurriedly gathered the best four skeins she could find and offered them to the man.

“She asked for two.”

“And you will take four, to show our gratitude.”

The soldier grumbled under his breath, but took them.

“And you will tell her that we are grateful-”

“I'm not a messenger, lady,” he snapped, and walked away from them.

“So, what is it, what did she give you?” Aunt Fauna asked.

“I haven't opened the-”

“Yes, silly boy! I know you haven't opened it yet! Open it! Open it!”

Rumpelstiltskin did so, though his fingers felt numb as he worked the string that tied it together. The moment the box was opened though, his eyes began to shine. Lady Belle had given him a pair of leather boots, brand new.

_Grant me a dance._

In boots like these, he could waltz all night long.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the night of the ball! Rumpelstiltskin is excited to go, while Belle wishes she didn't have to go at all.
> 
> WARNING: there is verbal and physical abuse towards the end of this chapter.

Rumpelstiltskin smoothed his vest with nervous hands, his fingers feeling for imperfections where there were none to be found. He'd done a good job in such a short amount of time. The mending could barely be seen and he'd even fixed the embroidery where it had come loose. He couldn't afford cuff links but the overall fit was so good that Milah would have to overlook that.

The only thing he hadn't been able to fix was the shirt, which had turned from white to yellow a long time ago, but that wouldn't be noticeable underneath the vest and jacket. At least the cuffs still held on to some white and he could hide most of his chest with a cravat, which he thought gave him a rather distinguished look.

There was no denying that the boots Lady Belle had given him were his favorite part, though. It had taken him twenty minutes to lace them but they complemented the rest of his outfit so well it made him wonder if Cinderella hadn't told her employer of the vest he was mending on the day they met. Everything fit perfectly.

Aunt Fauna had tears in her eyes. “You look like a gentleman.”

Flora turned to her companion. “Fauna, my darling, are you getting emotional?”

Fauna snapped her hand away from her reach before Flora had the chance to hold it.

“Yes, I'm getting emotional. I have the right to get emotional every now and then,” she sniffed, drying a tear before it could slip away.

Rumpelstiltskin didn't dare to speak. He was feeling just as affected by his own image in the mirror as his aunts. He looked good. More than that, he looked _happy_ , like he hadn't been in a very long time. It had to be at least a decade since the last time he felt this at peace with himself. It might be silly to think that something as simple as a new pair of boots and nice clothing might have such an effect on his character, but it did. His inner turmoil, that dark cloud that had followed him around every moment of every day for the past fourteen years, seemed to have evaporated into thin air, leaving something light and optimistic in his chest.

Once upon a time, he used to feel like this all the time. He was once a young man, full of bravery and hope, not an ash-covered shadow of a person who dragged himself off the floor every morning, someone whose only hope was that today would not be as terrible as the day before. How could Milah ever love a man like this? _He_ surely couldn't.

 _I'm never going to be that man again_ , he vowed to himself. _I won't cower and hide. I won't settle for the miserable life we have. From now on, everything will be different. Milah and I will go back to the way we were and my son will have a good family. And his father will be happy. Truly happy._

It was an ambitious promise but, right now, everything felt possible. There was no chance Milah wouldn't love him again, as long as he showed her he'd once again become the man she'd fallen in love with. If he could fix that, then everything else would fall into place.

“Let me take a good look at you, my son,” Aunt Flora asked from her bed and Rumple came to her. She squinted to see him better. “Oh, yes, how charming you look.”

“Lady Belle will think so too,” Fauna reminded him.

“Again with that,” he said, amused. “I won't dance with Lady Belle, Aunt Fauna. She only said that to be kind.”

“Never! A lady is only as good as her word. If she said she'll dance with you, then that is what she will do.”

Rumpelstiltskin shook his head, though there was a part of him that clung to that stubborn hope. His clothing might win Milah's heart over, but a dance with Lady Belle, if it happened, would change everything for him. The daughter of a war hero, the grieving fiance of a fallen soldier, showing mercy to the village coward, it was certainly scandalous but it would change everything for him. If he was worthy of Lady Belle's forgiveness, then people would have to see him with different eyes.

Not that he believed for a second that he'd even get a glimpse of Lady Belle, let alone get close enough for a dance. Still... it was nice to dream.

“I better go get Bae,” he said.

Flora nodded, “Yes, good, you better go.”

“And go fast!” Fauna agreed. “You have a ball to attend to.”

 

*

 

Regina hand't allowed her to eat. That was about the cruelest thing she'd done in months. In the morning, Belle was served an apple and a cup of tea, and then fed slices of apple throughout the day, to make sure she wouldn't be too weak by the time her suitors arrived. It was bitter and she took no pleasure in swallowing it down, and they were so few and far between that it did nothing to sate her hunger. By the time she had to put on her gown, it had grown so fierce her handmaiden could hear it growling.

“Pardon me,” Belle said, and she blushed underneath the many layers of make up Regina had forced upon her face.

“You must be starving, my lady,” Ruby said, pulling the laces on her corset, her face expressing genuine concern.

Belle could have smiled, if she didn't feel so melancholy. Ruby had only been around one week but she was easy to get along with and truly skilled. She had no doubt that Regina would find a reason to dismiss her as soon as she realized how much Belle liked her.

“Yes,” she said. “Regina doesn't think I'll fit in my dress if I eat too much. Or at all.”

“It's a beautiful dress, nonetheless. If you don't mind me saying it.”

Belle looked at her own reflection in the mirror. To her, it didn't look beautiful as much as ostentatious. The yellow fabric was so shiny it might as well have been made of gold and the stones in the embroidery looked precious. It was nothing like the dress she'd been fitted for so many times in the last month. What she wanted was a rather simple blue gown, something light that would move beautifully as she danced.

Regina had other plans and had that one delivered to her instead, claiming the gown she wanted had been unfortunately ruined in an accident.

“And in any case,” she'd said, upon seeing Belle's disappointment, “blue is not a color suiting of a lady of your stature.”

The yellow dress, while truly magnificent, was wrong in every way. The corset was too tight around her waist and Belle could feel the seams digging into her skin. The skirt, unlike her blue gown, was too heavy and made it difficult to move. After her visit to the market, Belle had been feeling better about the ball. She even thought she might dance all night, like she used to. However, her new dress was a call back to reality. This wasn't a ball to celebrate her birthday, and it wasn't a party to give the hardworking men and women of the Frontlands a well-deserved celebration. This was only so that Regina could shove her into the arms of a suitable young man. It didn't matter that she couldn't dance in her new dress, just as long as she looked desirable.

What was it that her mysterious friend had said? That Lady Belle was the most beautiful girl in all the land, perhaps even all the realms? Yes, that was all the people knew of her. That was all that truly mattered.

“Goodness,” Ruby said, panting at the effort of restricting Belle inside her garment. “My lady, if you don't mind me saying, I don't believe this is the right size.”

“It's not,” Belle stated. “I don't believe Regina cared to look for something that would make me comfortable, just as long as I look pretty.”

She drew in a deep breath, the yellow fabric caging her as her chest expanded.

“That's why Regina won't let me eat,” she told Ruby. “She fears I won't fit otherwise.”

Her eyes began to water but Belle willed herself to stop crying before the tears could slip away. This would solve nothing. She caught a glimpse of Ruby's worried face in the mirror.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “It's going to be a long night.”

“It's alright, my lady. Say, my granny is in the banquet downstairs. I can get you something, if you wish.”

“Regina won't allow it.”

“I'll be sneaky, then.”

Belle waved a hand at her. “You're new, I'd hate to get you in trouble. Regina keeps dismissing my handmaiden. I don't know why, I think she likes to make someone cry, sometimes.”

“It takes a lot to make me cry,” Ruby said, so defiant that Belle had to laugh. “I will be back in a minute.”

“Thank you, Ruby.”

“Is there anything you'd like to eat?”

Belle thought about it. “Anything, as long as it's not an apple.”

 

*

 

Making his way home, Rumpelstiltskin was very careful with every step he took. If he tore his jacket or muddied his boots, it would be a disaster. Everything had to be perfect, at least until Milah had the chance to see him.

It was still early, but the people were already converging towards the roads, and it was evident that every man and woman had put on an effort to dress as best they could. Among them, Rumpelstiltskin looked just as well dressed, perhaps even better than most, which was a relief. He feared that other people might cause him trouble thinking a coward had no place in a lady's ball, but they didn't even spare him a glance. Perhaps because they couldn't recognize him in such clean, fine clothing, though most likely it was because they were too caught up in their own happiness to look around. Who could blame them?

When he entered his home, the first thing he noticed was Milah, twirling in front of her mirror. It was a sight that took his breath away. She must have made a lot of tips working at the pub because her dress was truly a thing of beauty. It was as red as blood, which had always been the most flattering color on her. The skirt was so full it seemed to float around her, giving it an ethereal feel. The corset was embroidered with golden strings and her neckline was adorned with small jewels he'd never seen before in her jewelry box.

Rumpelstiltskin might look and feel like a gentleman, but his wife could very well be crowned a queen.

Baelfire stood right behind her, his eyes wide and glowing with adoration.

“Oh, mommy, you're so beautiful!”

She smiled with a little bit of well-deserved vanity. “Thank you, my love.”

“You look like a Princess.”

“I _feel_ like a Princess.”

“How did you buy this dress? It looks so expensive!”

“It cost me nothing, love. It was a gift from a Marquis,” she teased as she sprinkled perfume on herself.

“You don't know a Marquis,” Bae said, the thought clearly amusing him.

“Perhaps I do,” she said, full of mystery. “Perhaps I'm secretly a queen and you just don't know it yet.”

“Well, I, uhn, hope the Marquis will let me have the first dance,” Rumple said, in good nature, taking a step into the room.

Milah made a sound with her throat, something that rang like mockery, but the moment she turned around and her eyes fell on him, the smile on her lips began to fade.

“Do you like it, my love?” he asked, offering her a twirl of his own. A rather wobbly one, as he couldn't let go of the staff, but it caught Bae's attention.

“Papa!” Bae shouted, his admiration switching from his mother to his father. “You look gorgeous!”

“Thank you, lad.” To his wife, he asked, “Do you like it, Milah?”

But Milah had gone quiet, her face a mask of pure shock.

“Milah? This is good, isn't it?”

“Where did you get that?” Milah finally asked, a single finger darting out to point at his clothes.

“It cost us nothing,” he said, immediately. “There's nothing to worry about. Aunt Fauna and Aunt Flora had it lying around and I just had to make some adjustments. Well, more than just some. But I think the overall results were-”

“The boots are new,” she said, as an accusation.

“They were a gift.”

He wanted her to ask. He'd been _dying_ to tell her since the package had been delivered. The note, gracefully signed by Lady Belle herself, had been sitting in his pocket as evidence of his story, as well of his own worth, since that day, begging to be shown and this was it. If only she asked the question, he'd tell her all about it.

She never asked the question, though. Instead, she turned to Baelfire and ordered, “Bae, go wait outside.”

“But mom, I want to-”

“Baelfire, _now,_ ” she snapped.

Bae looked at her a little surprised. He was no stranger to Milah's harshness, but he was hardly on the receiving end of it.

“Do as your mother tells you, Bae,” he said, knowing that obeying her was the best way to avoid her wrath.

However, Baelfire's obedience didn't seem to soothe her growing anger. The moment he was gone, Milah started pacing the room, hands clenched into fists, quickly transformed from a queen to a beast, and she was getting ready to pounce.

He tried to ask, “What is it, Milah?” but she exploded before he had the chance to open his mouth.

“What the _hell_ were you thinking?”

“What do you mean?”

“We can't both go. You have to take care of Bae.”

“Is that what worries you?” he asked, relieved that it was something so trivial. “Aunt Fauna will be with him. I'm going to take him there right now.”

She stared at him, her anger loud and clear, though she refused to say a word.

“This was a surprise, Milah.” He came closer and took her hand, working to unclench her fingers with his soft touch. “You said it'd be fine if we both looked presentable, yes? Well, I did this for you, so that we could have a night for us, just as we-”

She snapped her hand back and he could see tears were starting to flood her eyes. “I'm not going anywhere with you.”

“Milah-”

“I will not show to the Duke's estate with the village coward in my arm, do you hear me?” she all but yelled. “I've been barred at the door too many times before, but not tonight. Not anymore.”

“They won't bar us, Milah,” he said, his voice turning pleading. “They _want_ us there, you and I.”

“ _Nobody_ wants you anywhere!”

Rumple took a step back as if she'd slapped him.

“Nobody, or just you?”

She shook her head. “You're naive if you think this is just about me. You've always been naive, thinking that some day people will forgive and forget what you are, what you did, but they won't-”

“No,” he agreed. “But perhaps you could.”

“That's not fair,” she fumed.

“It's been fourteen years-”

“Fourteen _miserable_ years!”

The words died in his mouth and all he could do was stare at her as she began to pant, anger tinting her face as red as her gown. For the first time, it occurred to Rumpelstiltskin that Milah didn't simply resent him, she _despised_ him.

It also occurred to him that a night at the ball would never change that. Perhaps, nothing ever would.

“This discussion is pointless, Milah,” he said. “We're married. You can't simply-”

“Ha! Are you going to forbid me from going?” she said, her voice drenched in mockery. “Because I'd like to see you try. Though that would be an improvement, I suppose. A step up from this sniveling coward you've become.”

Rumple's hand clenched his staff, something boiling hot in the pit of his stomach. For once, he wasn't sure if that was anger or shame.

“I'm not forbidding you,” he told her. “But you are my wife. You shouldn't go alone.”

He was cut short by the sound of horses up the road. Their thundering hooves were so loud that the entire shack trembled.

Milah started to smile again and wiped the tears from her eyes. Above the neighing of the horses, she said, “I won't be alone.”

Rumpelstiltskin looked at her with a curious frown. He knew that he should ask, but he also knew there was only one answer to that question and he wouldn't like it. Cowardice crawled up his throat and killed any words he might say as not to hear the inevitable. He couldn't bear it. He'd much rather spend the rest of his days in blissful ignorance, sleeping on the floor, by the fireside, and have Milah look at him with nothing but absolute hate than to have her say it.

Regardless, he'd understood already. Another man would accompany her to the ball.

“Run along now,” Milah said, fluffing her hair and smoothing her dress. “I've wasted enough time already. I've wasted fourteen years.”

“Milah, please, let us-”

“Excuse me?”

Rumpelstiltskin whipped around. A young man he didn't know had pushed the curtain above the door out of the way to let himself in.”

I'd have knocked but... you don't seem to have a door.”

The stranger smiled at Rumple without a hint of friendliness. He was a dark, handsome man who seemed to be a good decade younger than himself, perhaps even a little younger than Milah. Judging by his clothes, there was no doubt where he was heading to and looking at him only made him feel self-conscious about his own clothing. Not that it was a fair comparison. The stranger clearly wouldn't be joining the peasants that night. That was, undoubtedly, a man of birth and wealth.

He focused his eyes on Milah and his smile softned. “I've given your lad a treat, Lady Milah. I hope that you don't mind. Seemed like the lad could use a little cheering up.”

Milah smiled at the stranger, then gave her husband a passing look before crossing the small room to be with the other man.

“Not at all, Marquis,” she said.

Her arm wrapped itself around his, a motion so natural that it couldn't be the first time she'd done it. Rumpelstiltskin felt his mouth go dry.

“Who's this?” he asked, in a tiny voice.

“This is the Marquis of Carabas,” she said. “He's served in the Duke's army during the Ogres' War. Marquis, this is my-”

“Ah, yes, the _husband_ ,” he deduced, giving Rumple a look over. He didn't seem impressed by what he saw. “You are... just what I expected, really.”

Rumple could feel his entire body starting to shake and he clutched his staff to try to calm down his tremors.

The Marquis said, “I didn't know he would be joining us, Lady Milah.”

“Marquis, I had no idea he had the intention.” To Rumple, she said, “The Marquis comes to the pub sometimes. He's been invited to the ball, along with other suitors, to meet Lady Belle _herself_. He was, however, in need of a chaperon, so-”

“He bought you that dress,” Rumple interrupted.

“And her jewelry,” said the Marquis. “A woman as beautiful as your wife should have the means to show it.”

His hand rested on the small of her back. She didn't seem to mind. If anything, she looked at him with adoration in her eyes. She'd never looked at _him_ like that, not even before...

“Milah, what is going on?”

The question seemed to amuse the other man.

Milah said, “The Marquis is here to meet the Duke's daughter and he wants my assistance.”

“Why?”

“I'm sorry, but we should go now,” said the Marquis. “And I regret to say that my carriage can only fit two people.”

He stared at the man, then at Milah.

“Milah,” he tried, “you're my wife!”

“Oh, don't worry, mate,” said the Marquis, making light of the situation. “I'll make sure to return her in the morning.”

Milah giggled. That, more than the other man's choice of words, made his stomach churn.

“And truly,” he continued, “she is doing you a favor, mate. To show up dressed like this? You cannot expose the daughter of the Duke to...” He signaled at his entire body. “To _that_.”

“What is wrong with what I'm wearing?” he asked, defensive.

The Marquis chuckled. “Of course, it would look fine to someone as simple as you. But I've been to many royal balls before and I know better.” He took a step closer and Rumpelstiltskin fought the urge to step back. In retrospect, perhaps he should have. The Marquis narrowed his eyes at him. “Let's see... So many ruffles would be more suited to a Lady, for starters. The length of your jacket is wrong. Your cuff links are missing. And, _look_!”

Rumpelstiltskin screamed when the seam of the sleeve came apart, the other man's hand holding the fabric firmly after a violent pull.

“Dear lord, your clothes are falling apart!” the Marquis laughed. As if to give him another example, he took a hold of his shirt and vest.

“No, please-” Rumple tried, but the Marquis wouldn't hear of it and pulled them apart, making the buttons fly and exposing his chest. “What are you doing?” he shouted, in despair. “I cannot fix this in time-”

With a kick, the Marquis took the staff from under him and Rumple collapsed on the floor. Before he could fully understand what was happening, the other man's boot was pressing his throat.

“Don't yell at a Marquis,” said the other man, his light mockery quickly replaced by a dangerous tone. “You are a peasant and it will do you well to remember your place.”

Rumple gasped for air and looked for Milah, expecting her to plead the Marquis for mercy.

She was smiling.

“You should say you're sorry,” she suggested, making her friend laugh.

“Milah-” he tried. The other man's boot pressed harder.

“Is your neck as soft as the rest of you?” asked the Marquis.

“I'm sorry,” Rumple struggled. “I'm sorry, please.”

“There.” He took a step back, allowing Rumple to breathe. “See how easy it is to have manners?”

Rumple looked up behind a veil of tears, fighting for air as the Marquis rejoined his wife, both of them laughing at his misfortune.

“I did this for you,” he said, hoarse. “I did this to fix us. To get a fresh start.”

“Oh, I'm getting my fresh start,” Milah said, bending down to his level. “But not with you. You've dragged me down for fourteen years and you made my life miserable, Rumpelstiltskin. No more of this. The Marquis will marry the Duke's daughter, and once that happens, he'll give me and my son the life you never could.”

“He's your lover,” Rumple said, more to himself, to come to terms with that terrible reality, than to her.

The accusation made Milah roll her eyes. The Marquis chuckled. When she took his arm, Rumple still tried, “Milah, don't go with him, please, you cannot trust this man-”

“Don't go to the ball,” she warned him, and her voice was even more menacing than the Marquis'. “If I see you there, if you try to ruin this for me, I'm going to make you wish you had stayed on the floor.”

 

 


End file.
